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THE 

CRIMSON PATCH 


BY 

AUGUSTA HUIELL SEAMAN 

Author of “The Slipper Point MysVery,’’ “The 
Girl Next Door,” “Three Sides of Paradise 
Green,” “The Sapphire Signet,” 
etc., etc. 


ILLUSTRATED BY 

C. M. RELYEA 



NEW YORK 
THE CENTURY CO. 
1920 



Copyright, 1919, 1920, by 
The Century Co. 



Aur, 23 1920 

©CI.A576141 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER PAGE 

I Suite Numbee 403 3 

II Fkiends oe Enemies? 15 

III The Shadow on the Wale . . . 33 

IV The Ceimson Patch 52 

V Who Took It? 70 

VI The Mysteey Deepens . . . .79 

VII Left Alone 95 

VIII A Piece of Papee 103 

IX A Message in the Night .... 112 

X A Council of Wae 126 

XI An Adventueous Mission . . . .133 

XII The House with the Geeen Shuttees 146 
XIII ViEGiNiE Decides . . . , . .172 

XrV Melanie 184 

XV Out of the Net ...... 194 

XVI The Seceet of the Ceimson Patch . 205 



LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 


‘‘You want to warn me . . 
don’t understand” . 


What about? I 


Frontispiece 

rACINQ 

PAGE 


“You see!” whispered Virginia, clinging to Pa- 
tricia spasmodically 50 

“O, Melanie, let me stay just a few moments !” . 140 

Melanie stood in the doorway surveying her 

with stem surprise . . . . . . . 192 

















THE CRIMSON PATCH 



V. 


/ 




I 


THE CRIMSON PATCH 


CHAPTER I 

SUITE NUMBER 403 

S O this was to be her home — and for three 
long months! Patricia Meade dropped 
her suitcase on a convenient chair and gazed 
curiously about her. A hotel bedroom, with 
stiff -looking twin brass beds, two willow 
rockers, one straight chair, an imposing ma- 
hogany bureau and one small table — absolutely 
all the furniture, if one excepted the stiff dra- 
peries at the windows and one or two not par- 
ticularly artistic pastel pictures adorning the 
wall. Through a door and across the inter- 
vening sitting-room she could see another bed- 
room similarly equipped. 

In the sitting-room, her father. Captain 


THE CRIMSON PATCH 
Meade, was tipping the grinning bell-boy who 
had brought up their luggage , — a snub-nosed, 
blue-eyed, curly-haired young chap whose gaze 
was rivetted adoringly on the captain’s khaki 
uniform. When the boy was gone, the cap- 
tain turned to the door of Patricia’s bedroom. 

“Well, honey! Not much like home, eh? 
Do you think you can stand it for three months ? 
Jove! — if she hasn’t got her suitcase and is 
unpacking it already!” 

Patricia was indeed frantically flinging her 
belongings about. 

“Oh, it ’s jolly!” she replied, over her shoul- 
der. “But you ’re right about it ’s not being 
much like home. I felt as if I ’d just expire if 
I couldn’t see things strewn around in a sort 
of careless and cosy way, as if people really 
lived here!” She rose suddenly from her 
kneeling posture before the suitcase, ran across 
the room and thumped both stiff pillows on the 
beds, knocking them a trifle awry. “There! 
Now they look more hke real beds that you 


SUITE NUMBER 403 


sleep in and less like advertisements in the 
back of a magazine!” she laughed. “The sit- 
ting-room’s a little better, with that big table 
and the pretty reading-lamp and the comfort- 
able chairs. But do let ’s get a lot of papers 
and magazines and books at once, and have 
them lying all around as we do at home. 
Mother would be scandalized — she ’s always 
picking them up after us,” she went rattling on, 
and then stopped abruptly, lips quivering, eyes 
bright with sudden tears. 

“If mother could only be with us!” she 
sobbed. 

“Now, honey, don’t — ” the captain soothed 
her, laying his arm lovingly around her shoul- 
der. “Remember you ’re a soldier’s daughter; 
and, — well, brace up ! Mother ’s going to be 
beautifully taken care of in that Sanatorium, 
and Aunt Harriet is with her, to keep her com- 
pany and incidentally to indulge in some little 
pet cures of her own, on the side.” 

“But why, oh ! why did it have to happen just 

5 


THE CRIMSON PATCH 
now?'" wailed Patricia, refusing to be com- 
forted. 

“Is it any wonder that she broke down com- 
pletely and had a bad case of nervous prostra- 
tion, after waiting over a year for me to come 
back from France? And feehng sure, too, for 
the last six months that she ’d never see me 
alive again after she heard I ’d been taken a 
prisoner to Germany? It’s enough to have 
broken down the nerve of a cave- woman. And 
your mother was always delicate.” 

“Oh, Daddy! it was like getting you back 
from the dead,” sighed Patricia, hiding her 
head in his shoulder and shuddering at the 
memory. “And in three months, you ’re go- 
ing back again!” 

“But not to the dangers and horrors, this 
time,” he reminded her, and added half under 
his breath, “Worse luck!” Fortunately or un- 
fortunately, my constitution will never stand 
the strain of trench-life again, after a few 
months of German prison-diet, etc. But I ’m 
6 


SUITE NUMBER 403 


only too thankful that the Government has 
found use for me in some other capacity.” 

Patricia, who had been perched on his knee, 
snuggling her head in his coat collar, suddenly 
sat up straight . and looked him in the eyes. 
“Daddy, can’t you tell me what it is you ’re do- 
ing?” she begged. “I don’t ask just from idle 
curiosity. I want to understand. I want to 
help you if I can. I love America, and I am 
a soldier’s daughter, and I want to act intelli- 
gently about things and be of some use. 
That ’s one reason I ’m so glad you ’ve allowed 
me to be with you in this strange, big city and 
in this great hotel, for three months, — besides 
the joy of not being separated from you before 
you go back to Europe again for goodness 
knows how long! I want to do something for 
my country, too!” 

The Captain stroked his short mustache for 
several silent moments before answering. “I 
quite understand how you feel,” he said at 
length. “And I appreciate it. You’re 
7 


THE CRIMSON PATCH 

seventeen, Patricia, — almost a woman grown. 
I know I could trust you utterly with the whole 
thing, but it is n’t wise, — in fact, it is n’t even 
allowable. A government secret is a govern- 
ment secret, and cannot be revealed even to 
one’s nearest and dearest. This much only, 
I can tell you. While I was a prisoner, I 
stumbled upon a very valuable secret, some- 
thing new possessed by the enemy which, how- 
ever, they have not had the gumption to make 
use of properly. But I saw that it could be 
vastly improved upon and made a hundred 
times more effective. The Government has 
charged me with this task, and I ’m to take it 
back with me when I go. It ’s a very vital and 
important thing, Patricia, and may turn the 
tide for us. More I cannot tell you. It would 
not be wise nor even safe for you to know. 
And you can help me most by appearing to 
know nothing whatever about my affairs. 
Remember that, — to know nothing, whatever 
8 


SUITE NUMBER 408 

happens , — ” He was interrupted by a loud 
knocking at the door and went to open it. 

‘‘Telegram for you, sir!” grinned the bell- 
boy of the snub-nose and twinkling eyes. 
Captain Meade tore it open hastily. 

“Here’s a pretty pickle!” he exclaimed, 
handing the yellow slip to Patricia. “Your 
Aunt Evelyn fell yesterday, just before she was 
to take the train from Chicago to meet us here, 
and will be laid up for the next six or eight 
weeks with a broken leg. Just like Evelyn!” 
he added impatiently. “She was always the 
worst youngster for falling down and getting 
damaged at critical moments. And she ’s kept 
it up consistently all the rest of her life. I ’m 
sorry for her, of course, but what on earth are 
we to do?” 

They stared blankly at each other. “Poor 
Aunt Evelyn!” sighed Patricia, sympatheti- 
cally. “She was looking forward so to this 
three-months’ holiday. She wrote that she 
9 


THE CRIMSON PATCH 


had n’t been away from home even a week, for 
the last ten years, and was going to enjoy the 
rest so much. I ’m awfully sorry for her. 
She ’ll be so disappointed!” 

“Yes, but that does n’t solve the pro'blem of 
what we" re going to do,” argued the captain. 
“She was to be your companion here. I can’t 
be around all the time. I may even have to be 
away several days at a time. A young girl 
like you can’t stay alone in a big hotel. What 
in sancho are we going to do?” He ran his 
hands through his hair despairingly. “It was 
only on the basis of her being able to join us 
that your mother and I consented to this ar- 
rangement at all. I guess now you ’ll have to 
go out to Chicago and stay with her, after all. 
There ’s no where else for you to go.” 

“Oh, Daddy, Daddy, don’t!” implored Pa- 
tricia, hurling herself at him in a panic. “I 
could n’t, I simply could n" t stand being parted 
from you now. And I ’d have the most miser- 
able time there. Aunt Evelyn would be in 
10 


SUITE NUMBER 403 


bed and a trained nurse puttering around her 
all the time, (I know her!) and there ’d be 
nothing to do and I ’d be simply wretched and 
unhappy all the while. We can have such a 
cosy time here, just you and I, and I ’ll promise 
to be very good and quiet and read a lot, and 
stay here in our own suite all by myself when 
you are away. I ’ve brought a lot of fancy- 
work, too, and I ’m going to do Red Cross 
knitting and make all my Christmas presents 
during these three summer months, so I ’ll be 
very, very busy. Do say yes. Daddy!” 

Captain Meade looked only half convinced. 
‘T don’t like it at all, Patricia. It will not only 
be lonely, for you, it may possibly even be dan- 
gerous» There are spies about us all the time. 
If they should happen to nose out my mission, 
they ’d no doubt try to make it hot for me— 
and for you too. Your Aunt Evelyn was to 
be your safeguard. But now — ” 

Patricia suddenly interrupted him. ‘‘Do 
you have to go away for any length of time 
IX 


THE CRIMSON PATCH 


very soon? I mean, to go for several days?” 

“Well, no,” he admitted. “I ’m supposed to 
be giving lectures at the churches and Y. M. 
C. A.’s of this city and hereabout on my experi- 
ences as a prisoner. That, however, is hardly 
more than a ‘blind,’ to cover my real work. It 
will take me away some afternoons and eve- 
nings, but I shall not stay away overnight for 
a few weeks yet, in all likelihood.” 

“Then, Daddy,” urged the vdly Patricia, 
grasping eagerly at this straw, “until you find 
you have really to be absent for any length of 
time, let me stay with you. If later on you 
should find you must go, then we can see what 
to do. Meantime let ’s be happy together for 
a while and see what ’s going to turn up. I ’ll 
even go to Chicago then, if you insist, if you ’ll 
only let me stay here with you for a while.” 

And then Captain Meade relinquished the 
argument, glad to settle the vexed question, at 
least temporarily. “Very well,” he said, a 
trifie reluctantly. “Stay you shall, since you 
12 


SUITE NUMBER 403 


wish it so, at least for a while. But, Patricia, 
attend to what I am going to say, and never 
forget it under any circumstances. It ’s an 
old saying that ‘walls have ears,’ but it was 
never truer than it is in these days and in a big 
hotel. Trust no one. Hear everything, see 
everything — ^and say nothing. My very life, 
and even yours too, may depend upon your 
obeying in this, implicitly.” 

Patricia nodded gravely. ‘T understand. 
Father!” was all she replied. But her brain 
was a-whirl with feverish, delicious excitement. 
“Spies,” “danger,” “secret mission” — the 
magic words gave her an indescribable thrill! 
And yet, with it all, she realized too the gravity 
of the affair ; and the realization served to give 
her a mental balance beyond her years. 

“But now let’s go down to dinner!” cried 
the Captain gaily, glad to change to a subject 
less tense. “I ’ve an appetite worthy of an ex- 
prisoner in a German camp !” 

As they passed out into the corridor, Pa- 

13 


THE CRIMSON PATCH 


tricia glanced up at the number over their door. 
“Suite number 4081’' she murmured, squeezing 
her father’s arm. “Now I wonder just what ’s 
going to happen to us while this is our home 
number?” 


14 


CHAPTER II 


FRIENDS OR ENEMIES? 

T hey made their way through the long 
corridors, down the elevator, past the 
cosy sun-parlors and into the imposing dining- 
room. To Patricia it was all a splendid ad- 
venture, even without the strange, new element 
so recently hinted at by her father. 

“Daddy,” she began, when they were settled 
at a comfortable table for two in a remote 
corner, “I wonder if you realize how simply 
heavenly it is for me to sit down to a meal like 
this (not to speak of all the meals to come!) 
and pick out just exactly what I want to eat, 
without having cooked or helped to cook them 
all beforehand, and knowing I won’t have to 
wash the dishes afterward!” She picked up 
the menu and scanned it luxuriously. “Now I 
15 


THE CRIMSON PATCH 


think some cream-of-asparagus soup and a ten- 
derloin steak and some nice French-fried pota- 
toes would just suit me tonight!” 

There was no response to her remark, and, 
glancing up curiously, she found her father’s 
gaze riveted on the waiter who had just arrived 
to take their order. Patricia, too, turned her 
attention to the man, and found him a singu- 
larly unprepossessing individual. He was of 
medium height, with a swarthy skin, and black 
hair plastered closely down the sides of his 
head. His eyebrows were extremely black and 
bushy, and one eyelid drooped conspicuously. 
Several of his prominent front teeth were of 
gold, and gleamed in a sinister manner when he 
spoke. His voice was thick and husky, and 
had a foreign accent. 

“Are you to be the regular man for this 
table?” questioned the Captain. The man 
merely nodded in sullen affirmation. 

“I want to know your name,” pursued Cap- 
tain Meade. “I expect to be here some time 
16 


FRIENDS OR ENEMIES? 


and may keep this table. And if I ’m going to 
have anyone about me regularly, I prefer to 
call him by the name that belongs to him. 
What ’s yours?” 

“Peter Stoger,” still sullenly. 

“What nationality?” 

“Swiss.” 

“Very well, Peter. You may take our 
order.” And without further remark, the 
Captain dismissed him. 

“Daddy, I don’t like that man,” whispered 
Patricia when he was gone. “He looks like 
an alien enemy. I don’t believe he ’s Swiss at 
all. Can’t we have another ? I know he ’s go- 
ing to make me uncomfortable and worry me.” 

“Oh, he ’s all right,” replied the Captain 
easily. “You must learn not to mind an un- 
prepossessing outer appearance. If he makes 
a good waiter, nothing else about him will mat- 
ter much to us. Don’t get ‘spies’ on the 
brain.” 

Patricia subsided, unconvinced, and they 
17 


THE CRIMSON PATCH 


both gazed quietly about them for the few mo- 
ments while they were waiting to be served. 

“Oh, Daddy,” whispered Patricia, “don’t 
look for a minute or two, but isn’t that a lovely 
woman at the table diagonally at our right, just 
a little behind you? She reminds me somehow 
of Aunt Evelyn. And there ’s a pretty girl 
with her, just about my age, I should think, but 
I wonder what makes her look so queer and 
cross — and sullen?” 

After a proper interval. Captain Meade 
glanced in the direction indicated. The 
woman’s appearance was certainly striking 
enough to attract attention in any assembly. 
Her wavy gray hair was elaborately dressed, 
she had large, liquid brown eyes, she was 
beautifully if quietly gowned, and was of im- 
posing height and build. 

“She does look a little like your Aunt 
Evelyn,” he agreed, “only much handsomer 
and more imposing. The young person with 
18 


FRIENDS OR ENEMIES? 

her does n’t seem to be enjoying life, some- 
how.” 

The girl in question did indeed appear very 
unhappy. She was fifteen or sixteen years old, 
but of a slight, fragile build that made her seem 
younger. Her hair, a mass of dark curls, was 
tied back simply at the nape of her neck. But 
her lovely face was marred by a pouting, sullen 
mouth, and her big dark eyes gazed about her 
with an expression that struck Patricia as one 
half -frightened, half-rebellious. She did not 
often look about her, however, but kept her 
gaze in the main riveted on her plate. Her 
companion chatted with her almost continu- 
ously, but she answered only in monosyllables 
or not at all. 

They were a strange pair. Patricia could 
not understand them at all, nor could she, for 
the remainder of the meal, keep her eyes long 
from turning toward their table. The older 
woman fascinated her, not only by her hand- 
19 


THE CRIMSON PATCH 
some appearance and vague resemblance to her 
aunt, but also because of some subtle attraction 
in her vivacious manner. Once she looked up 
suddenly, caught Patricia’s gaze fixed on her, 
and smiled in so winning a manner that 
Patricia was impelled to smile back in response. 
The girl puzzled her by her strange, inex- 
plicable conduct toward one who was so evi- 
dently interested and absorbed in her. 
Patricia found herself wondering more and 
more what could be the relationship between 
the two. 

But their own meal now delightfully finished 
with French ice cream and tiny cups of black 
coffee, Patricia and her father rose to leave the 
dining-room. Their way led directly past the 
table that had so deeply interested Patricia. 
As she approached it, she noticed that a dainty 
handkerchief belonging to the older woman had 
fallen unheeded to the floor at her side. Stoop- 
ing to pick it up, Patricia restored it, and was 
rewarded by another charming smile and a 
20 


FRIENDS OR ENEMIES? 
“Thank you, dear!” But in the same instant 
her eye caught that of the young girl, and was 
held by it for a long, tense moment. Patricia 
was no practiced reader of expression, but it 
seemed to her that in this moment, fear, hope, 
dread and longing were all mirrored succes- 
sively in the beautiful dark eyes raised to her 
face. Then the lids were dropped and the girl 
went on eating in apparent unconcern. 

Patricia and her father passed on. They 
had almost reached the door of the big dining- 
room when Captain Meade stopped suddenly 
to grasp the hand of an elderly lady seated at 
a table near the door. 

“Mrs. Quale! by all things unexpected! 
How do you happen to be here? Let me 
present my daughter, Patricia.” Patricia 
made her best curtsey to one of the quaintest 
little elderly ladies she thought she had ever 
seen. 

“Delighted to know Patricia,” began Mrs. 
Quale. “I ’m here by virtue of having my 
21 


THE CRIMSON PATCH 
house burn down, not exactly over my head, 
but while I was away in New Haven. Care- 
lessness of old Juno, my colored cook. She 
would keep too hot a range fire and overheated 
the chimney. At any rate, here I am till the 
thing is rebuilt, and a precious long job they ’re 
making of it, with all these war-time restric- 
tions. So this is Patricia ! I saw her once be- 
fore when she was a tiny baby. Are you stay- 
ing here. Captain Meade?” 

The Captain sketched briefly for her, the 
reason of their presence in the big hotel, — his 
wife’s breakdown and departure to a sana- 
torium; the closing-up of their home and his 
coming with Patricia for a combination of holi- 
day for her and lecture-program for him to this 
distant city, of their disappointment about 
Aunt Evelyn, and their consequent predica- 
ment. 

“Well, don’t worry your head another mo- 
ment about Patricia,” laughed Mrs. Quale. 
“Fate seems to have arranged things very 
22 


FRIENDS OR ENEMIES? 


nicely, that I should be here to act as her 
chaperon whenever necessary, and general ad- 
viser at all times. My suite is 720, ninth floor. 
Be sure you call on me soon, Patricia, and we’ll 
get really acquainted in short order. Yom* 
father played in my back yard as a child (his 
house was right next door to ours) and so I feel 
quite like a grandmother to you!” 

“I like Mrs. Quale, Daddy,” Patricia con- 
fided to her father, as they were ascending to 
their rooms in the elevator. ‘‘I like the way 
her hair is fixed in those queer, old-fashioned 
scallops, and her dear, round, soft face, and 
her jolly manner. But how is it, I ’ve never 
heard you speak of her before?” 

“She is an old friend of my boyhood days,” 
replied her father, “and, as she said, we used 
to live next door to her. I don’t know why I 
didn’t think of her right away, when your 
aunt’s telegram came. I should n’t have hesi- 
tated to take you straight to her and put you 
in her care. However, if her house is out of 
S3 


THE CRIMSON PATCH 

commission and she ’s staying here, it answers 
the purpose even better. You must be sure 
to call on her in her rooms tomorrow. Now, 
I ’m afraid you ’re in for a lonely evening, 
Patricia, for I have an important business mat- 
ter to attend to, and may be detained rather 
late. Telephone down to the office for any- 
thing you need or any attention you want, but 
don’t leave these rooms on any consideration — 
short of a fire ! Tomorrow we ’ll do the town 
and go out somewhere in the evening, so I hope 
you won’t be lonely tonight, — eh, honey?” 

“Indeed I won’t be lonely. Don’t you 
worry about me a minute!” agreed Patricia, 
“I ’ve heaps of things to do.” 

When Captain Meade had gone, Patricia 
flew about, busily occupying herself with un- 
packing her trunk and making her bedroom a 
little more homelike with a few of her own 
personal knicknacks and belongings. When 
this occupation could be prolonged no further, 
24i 


FRIENDS OR ENEMIES? 


she sank down in a cosy chair by the table in 
the living-room, intending to read a magazine, 
but in reality to dream delightfully over the 
events of the day and her father’s strange, half- 
exhilarating, half -terrifying hints. 

A great hotel full of people, — literally hun- 
dreds of them, — coming and going continually, 
— some of them friends, some of them enemies, 
perhaps, — and she, Patricia Meade in the 
center of it, she and her father the very center 
of a whirlpool of plots and danger, perhaps! 
Then more sober thought reminded her that 
there was, in all probability, no likelihood of 
anything particularly thrilling except in her 
own imagination, and she laughed at herself for 
romancing so foolishly. They would have a 
very delightful holiday, she and her father. 
He would accomplish safely and without diffi- 
culty, the mission that occupied him, they 
would return home to a reunited household at 
the end of the summer, — and then he would 
go away, ‘over there’ again. 

^5 


THE CRIMSON PATCH 


At this point in her revery, she suddenly 
dropped into an unpleasant depression and de- 
cided to send for a sandwich and a glass of 
milk, write a tiny note to her mother and go 
to bed. All at once she realized how very 
tired she was and how the excitement and ex- 
hilaration had all evaporated, leaving only 
weariness in their place. Rather timidly she 
telephoned her order to the office and sat down 
again to await its arrival. 

Five minutes later, she answered a knock at 
the door, to find the grinning, implike bell-boy 
of their first encounter, standing there with a 
tray. 

“Didn’t have no chicken left, ma’am, so I 
got you tongue. Best I could do!” he vouch- 
safed. 

“Oh, thanks ! That will do just as well,” she 
replied, then something impelled her to inquire, 
“Do you always answer the calls in this cor- 
ridor?” 


FRIENDS OR ENEMIES? 


''Yep, — at least I try to work it that way. I 
got a reason!’’ he ended darkly. 

"A reason? What is it?” she asked idly. 

"Not allowed to tell. State secret. Gov- 
ernor forbids it!” he grinned; and Patricia 
found herself laughing as much at his serio- 
comic expression as at his very apparent non- 
sense. "Anything else wanted?” he ended. 

"Nothing but your name,” she replied, fol- 
lowing her father’s tactics. "If you ’re going 
to be around here regularly, my father would 
like to know it.” 

"Oh, it ’s Chet, just Chet Jackson!” he said, 
apparently a trifle dumfounded to think that 
anyone should care to know it. To the hotel 
at large he was only 'Number 27.’ 

"Well, goodnight. That will be all, I 
think.” And Patricia turned back into the 
room to lay the tray on the table. But as she 
retraced her steps to close the door, she sud- 
denly remembered that she had meant to order 
27 


THE CRIMSON PATCH 

ice-water for the night also, and walked out into 
the corridor to see if Chester were still in sight. 
He was not, however, and she turned back 
toward her own door, murmuring, ‘‘Oh, well, it 
doesn’t really matter. I don’t want to bother 
’phoning down again. Daddy can send for it 
when he comes in.” 

What impelled her, just at that instant, to 
turn her head and glance over her shoulder, she 
never quite knew. Perhaps if she had not, if 
she had gone quietly in and closed her door, all 
future events might have been different. At 
any rate, turn her head she did, drawn by some 
mysterious power, and beheld a curious sight. 

A door diagonally opposite her own, across 
the corridor, was standing a trifle ajar. It had 
not been so while she was talking to the bell- 
boy, of that she was positive, nor had she heard 
the faintest sound of its being opened. And 
in the opening was framed a face, gazing at her 
absorbedly, intently. Patricia’s hear^ gave a 
^8 


FRIENDS OR ENEMIES? 


sudden leap. It was the face of the young girl 
she had noticed in the dining-room. 

So unexpected to both was this encounter of 
eyes, that for a long instant, neither could re- 
move her gaze. Patricia was first to recover 
her poise ; moreover, truth to tell, she was even 
a trifle pleased at this opportunity to break the 
growing monotony of the evening. She smiled 
her friendliest smile at the face across the cor- 
ridor, and with its resultant effect on the girl 
in the opposite doorway, she was not a little 
astonished. The expression in the big, black 
eyes changed suddenly from watchfulness to 
wonder, and a slow, reluctant answering smile 
curved the sullen mouth. The effect was like 
a shaft of sunlight breaking through a black 
cloud. 

‘T was looking for our bell-boy,” Patricia 
called across laughingly and informally. “He 
escaped before I could speak about bringing 
ice-water.” The girl in the opposite doorway 


THE CRIMSON PATCH 


suddenly realized that her presence too, might 
call for some explanation. 

‘T was looking for my — ah — for Mme. Van- 
derpoel,” she hesitated. “She has gone out. 
I am a little lonely — and was watching for her 
— to return.” She spoke with a noticeably 
foreign accent and her manner was reticent and 
confused. But Patricia, for some inexplicable 
reason felt immediately drawn to her. The 
girl was lonely. So was she. What possible 
objection could there be to spending a while in 
each other’s company? 

“Why, I’m lonely, too,” she vouchsafed. 
“My father was to be away all the evening. 
Won’t you come in and sit with me awhile? 
I ’ve a couple of sandwiches that we can divide, 
or I can send for more. Do come !” 

For a moment it seemed as if the girl were 
about to consent. A surprised, dimpling smile 
lit her face for an instant, and she replied, “Oh, 
thanks ! Since you are so — ” 

At this moment the door of the room ad join- 
30 


FRIENDS OR ENEMIES? 


ing hers opened and a waiter came out, bearing 
in his hands a tray of used dishes, and passed 
directly between them, down the corridor. He 
glanced neither to the right nor left, and dis- 
appeared in a moment down the turning at the 
end of the hall. Patricia realized with a tiny 
qualm of dislike that it was the waiter of her 
own table. But his passing had broken the 
spell of the new acquaintance. 

‘‘I thank you — but — but this evening I must 
stay in the room,” the girl resumed, inexplic- 
ably contradicting what she had plainly in- 
tended to say at first. The bright smile was 
gone. Her face had again assumed the 
clouded, sullen expression. Patricia was thor- 
oughly puzzled. 

“Well, that’s too bad!” was all she could 
find to reply. “Same here, or perhaps I could 
run over to you. Are you staying here 
long?” 

“I think so. I am not sure how long.” 

“Oh, well, then we ’ll have plenty of time to 
31 


THE CRIMSON PATCH 
get acquainted. Goodnight!” Patricia ended 
pleasantly, as she closed her door. 

But sitting alone and nibbling her sand- 
wiches later, she found herself vexed with many 
puzzling surmises. Who was this strange, in- 
teresting, appealing foreign girl? What was 
her relation to the beautiful woman she called 
‘Mme. Vanderpoel’? Why had she appeared 
to assent to the invitation so gladly, and sud- 
denly retracted after the passing of the man, 
Peter Stoger? 

‘T like her, though,” thought Patricia con- 
fusedly, ‘‘And yet I can’t for the life of me tell 
why. I can’t make her out. I don’t believe 
what she said about looking for that woman to 
come back. I think that was only an excuse. 
I firmly believe she was watching me. But 
why? There ’s something queer about the 
whole thing. But, no matter what happens, 
I ’m going to make a desperate effort to get 
better acquainted with her. I believe we ’re 
going to be friends.” 


CHAPTER III 


THE SHADOW ON THE WALL 

I N spite of her resolution to get better ac- 
quainted with her mysterious neighbor, 
however, Patricia made no further progress in 
that direction for several days. These were 
spent in a round of sight-seeing with her father 
through the big, busy, manufacturing city in 
which they were staying, at present so absorbed 
in its war work and munition making. After 
that came a series of delightful trolley-trips 
through distant and picturesque parts of the 
surrounding country. And when she was at 
leisure at all, Patricia spent not a little time 
with Mrs. Quale, finding a real delight in her 
quaint, sunny, comfortable company. During 
their wanderings, it chanced that she and her 
father took few meals at the hotel. And thus 


THE CRIMSON PATCH 

it fell out that she saw nothing, or almost noth- 
ing, of the curious couple that had so interested 
her on the first night. Once, indeed, she did 
have a brief glimpse of them at breakfast, but 
the older woman only acknowledged her pres- 
ence by a friendly little nod. The girl never 
so much as turned her head or looked in 
Patricia’s direction. 

Then, on the sixth morning after their ar- 
rival, came a change. Captain Meade an- 
nounced it as they were taking their leisurely 
breakfast. 

“We ’ve done all the gadding about that I ’ll 
be able to indulge in for a while,” he told her. 
“I must settle down to business now, and I ’m 
afraid you ’ll be left pretty much on your own 
hands.” 

“Well, to tell the truth, I don’t mind very 
much,” she replied, lazily dallyirg with the 
grape-fruit. “I ’m so tired of being on the go 
that I ’ll appreciate a little rest and quietness.” 

“I must go off this morning to be gone al- 
S4i 


THE SHADOW ON THE WALL 

most all day,” went on Captain Meade. “You 
will be a little lonely, perhaps, but there ’s al- 
ways Mrs. Quale. Don’t rush her too much, 
however. Remember she ’s a very busy wom- 
an. But you can always turn to her in 
emergencies or if you need advice.” 

“No, I won’t bother her,” returned Patricia, 
“and I think I ’ll spend the morning over at 
the sea-wall in the park. I love it there, and 
it ’s just the place to take some knitting and a 
book and perhaps write some letters. Will 
you be back to lunch?” 

“I hardly expect to. Order a lunch sent to 
the room, or go down to the dining-room if you 
prefer, but don’t wait for me.” 

“Oh, I ’ll have my luncheon sent up-stairs, I 
guess,” sighed Patricia. “I detest that Peter 
Stoger more every time I see him. I feel as 
if he were spying on me constantly. I can’t 
understand why you don’t realize it, too.” 

The captain smiled as they rose to leave the 
table. “Poor Peter would be surprised, and 
35 


THE CRIMSON PATCH 


horrified probably, if he realized he was posing 
as a German spy for your benefit. But suit 
yourself, Patricia, about luncheon, and don’t be 
alarmed if I ’m not back till late. If I ’m not 
here by dinner-time, ask Mrs. Quale if you may 
dine at her table.” 

‘T surely will,” agreed Patricia. “And I — 
I beg your pardon!” The latter remark she 
addressed suddenly to the handsome woman 
whom she now knew as Madame Vanderpoel, 
who was breakfasting alone at her own table, 
and, as they were passing, had touched Patricia, 
a trifle hesitantly, on the arm. 

“It is I that must beg your pardon,” she 
answered. “I am going to be so bold as to ask 
a very great favor, though I do not even know 
you, but I am in great trouble and perplexity 
this morning.” 

“Why, I ’ll be glad to do anything, of 
course,” began Patricia, in surprise. 

“I was sure you would. I read it in your 
face. That is why I ask,” Madame Vander- 
36 


THE SHADOW ON THE WALL 


poel hurried on. ‘T am called away to New 
York this morning on the most urgent business 
— something that cannot be postponed. Un- 
fortunately, my dear little charge, Virginie, 
Mademoiselle de Vos, is quite miserable — a 
violent nervous headache; she is subject to 
them frequently, poor little soul! I dread to 
leave her alone all day in the care only of that 
stupid chambermaid, yet my business is such 
that I simply cannot postpone it. Would it 
be imposing too much on your kindness to ask 
you to stop in there occasionally, just for a 
moment or two, to see that she is as comfortable 
as possible? You are, I believe, just across the 
hall from us, so it would not be a long journey.” 

“Why, I ’ll be delighted to!” agreed Patricia, 
heartily. “I ’ll sit with her just as long as she 
cares to have me. Don’t worry about her at 
all. I ’m famous as a nurse, too, for my 
mother never has been very well, and I ’m used 
to waiting on her.” 

“Oh, thank you so much!” breathed Madame 
37 


THE CRIMSON PATCH 
Vanderpoel, seemingly much relieved. ‘T 11 
be so much easier in mind. I leave almost at 
once after breakfast. Go in as soon as you 
like. Just knock at the door and open it. 
1 11 leave it unlocked. I can never repay your 
kindness.” 

“That solves the problem of my day for me, 
Daddy,” remarked Patricia, when they were 
back in^their rooms. “1 11 stay around here 
and visit Virginie de Vos (My! but I ’m glad 
I know her name at last!) every little while. 
I Ve been real anxious to meet her, and did n’t 
know how I was going to get the chance.” 

But the captain frowned a little doubtfully. 
“It ’s all right, I suppose, and you could n’t 
very well refuse, but I rather wish you did n’t 
have to come in contact with any strangers 
here. They may be all right — and they may 
not. These are queer times, and you can’t 
trust any one. Get Mrs. Quale to go in with 
you, if possible, and don’t stay there more than 
fifteen minutes at any time.” 

38 


THE SHADOW ON THE WALL 


Patricia opened her eyes wide with astonish- 
ment. “Well, of all things! You don’t sus- 
pect people like that of — of anything queer, do 
you?” 

‘T suspect no one, and trust no one in this 
entire establishment except, of course, Mrs. 
Quale. But don’t get another attack of ‘spies’ 
on the brain, just because I warned you to be 
ordinarily cautious. It ’s probably all right. 
I ’ll be back by eight o’clock, anyway. Now, 
good-by, honey, and take care of yourself.” 

Patricia waited until nearly ten o’clock be- 
fore essaying her first visit to the sick ^ girl 
across the hall. Then, obedient to her father’s 
injunction, she called up Mrs. Quale on the 
house telephone, to ask if that lady would find 
it convenient to accompany her. But the clerk 
at the desk informed her that Mrs. Quale had 
gone out for the day, leaving only her maid. 
Patricia had seen this woman several times, 
quiet, elderly, and noticeably hard of hearing, 
and who, Mrs. Quale said, had been in her 
39 


THE CRIMSON PATCH 

service for many years. So Patricia was left 
with no alternative but to make her first ven- 
ture alone. 

‘T ’m sure Daddy would n’t want me to neg- 
lect the poor little sick thing, even if Mrs. 
Quale isn’t there,” she told herself as she 
knocked at the door of number 404, across 
the hall. 

She had vaguely expected to find the sick 
girl in bed, her head swathed in bandages, the 
room darkened and orderly. The sight that 
met her eyes as she entered, at a half -muffled 
“Come in,” was as different as possible from 
that picture. The room was in great disorder, 
and bright with the glare of the morning sun. 
Both of the twin-beds were unmade — and 
empty. But at one of the windows, her back 
to the room, stood Virginie de Vos, staring out 
into the street. She did not turn round as 
Patricia entered. 

“I beg your pardon — good morning,” ven- 
tured Patricia, timidly. “I came at the re- 
40 


THE SHADOW ON THE WALL 


quest of your — of Madame Vanderpoel, who 
said you were ill. Is there anything I can do 
for you ? Ought n’t you to be in bed ?” 

Still with her back to her visitor, Virginie 
shook her head. Suddenly, however, she 
whirled around. Her eyes were red and swol- 
len with crying, but there were no tears in them 
now. 

“Thank you — oh, very much! It is so 
thoughtful of you to come 1 My head does not 
ache — at least, not now. I am better. I do 
not need any care.” 

“But surely, there must be something the 
matter! You — you cannot be feeling quite 
well. Madame Vanderpoel said you were suf- 
fering severely,” returned Patricia, thoroughly 
puzzled. 

“Whatever it was, I am better now,” mut- 
tered the girl, almost sullenly. “But you are 
— you are so kind!” she added, and her eyes lit 
up with a friendly gleam for an instant. 

“Look here,” cried Patricia, in sudden de- 
41 


THE CRIMSON PATCH 


termination, “perhaps you are feeling better, 
but your headache may return. Now, I have 
a plan to propose. It ’s very hot and glaring 
and noisy in this room. You see, it ’s on the 
street side and you get all the racket from this 
busy avenue. Beside that, it has n’t been made 
up yet. Come over and spend the morning in 
our sitting-room with me. It’s so quiet and 
pleasant there, for it faces on the little park at 
the back. I ’ll darken it up, and you can lie 
on the couch, and I ’ll read or talk to you — or 
just let you alone to sleep. Please come!” 

Her manner was so cordial, so urgent and 
convincing, that Virginie visibly wavered. 

“I ought — I ought not.” She hesitated. 
“You do not know — you cannot know — ” 

“Oh, nonsense!” cried Patricia, impatiently. 
“What earthly reason could there be for not 
coming? Just come right along, and we ’ll 
have a lovely time. I ’m awfully lonesome, 
and you probably would be, too, alone here all 
day. So come !” 

4a 


THE SHADOW ON THE WALL 


Very reluctantly the girl assented and fol- 
lowed Patricia. Once established in the cool, 
pleasant, half-darkened sitting-room, however, 
her hesitancy seemed suddenly to vanish. Pa- 
tricia insisted that she occupy the couch, which 
she finally consented to do, though pa- 
tently more to please her hostess than her- 
self. 

‘T am not sick; my head does not ache at all. 
Madame Vanderpoel was — er — ^mistaken.” 
And, indeed, she looked the picture of health, 
now that her eyes were returning to a normal 
appearance. 

“Never mind. She must have been worried 
about you, or she would n’t have asked me to 
see to you. So lie down here for a while, and 
I ’ll sit by you and do this fancy-work. I 
suppose I ought to be knitting, but I do get so 
tired of it at times. Do you ever embroider?” 

“Ah, I — I love it!” cried Virginie, in sudden 
enthusiasm. “Anything of the — artistic I love 
and have studied to do.” It was when she grew 


THE CRIMSON PATCH 


excited, Patricia noticed, that her language be- 
came a trifle confused. 

“Tell me,” Patricia suddenly asked — “that 
is, if you don’t mind — what nationality are you? 
I had thought perhaps you were French.” 

The girl’s manner again grew restrained. 
But she only replied in a voice very low and 
tense, “I am a Belgian!” 

Patricia impulsively dropped on her knees 
by the couch and took both of Virginie’s hands 
in her own. 

“You poor, poor darling!” she murmured. 
“And did you — were you driven out of the 
country?” 

“We lived in Antwerp,” Virginie replied 
simply. “My father and I have always lived 
there. My mother is long dead. When the 
war came, I was being educated — in one of the 
best schools. At first it was thought there 
would be no danger. Antwerp was thought to 
be — what you call — impregnable. Then, when 
the Germans had taken Malines and Louvain 
4 , 4 * 


THE SHADOW ON THE WALL 

and Liege, Madame Vanderpoel (she is my 
mother’s sister-in-law), came to take me away 
from the school, to take me to England. She 
told my father it was too dangerous, that he 
should flee also. But he would not go. He is 
an old man, and I am the last of his children. 
He was too old for army service, but he said 
he would remain and defend his villa there in 
Antwerp. He declared the city could not be 
taken. But he insisted that I go away to Eng- 
land — to safety. He sent me from him, 
though it broke our two hearts — and I have 
never seen him since. You know what hap- 
pened to Antwerp.” 

She hid her face in the pillows and shook 
with unrepressed sobbing. Patricia knew not 
what to say to comfort the stricken girl. For 
several moments she only smoothed the dark 
hair in silence, but her touch was evidently 
soothing, for Virginie presently sat up and 
dried her eyes. She continued no further, 
however, with any personal disclosures. 

45 


THE CRIMSON PATCH 
“We too have suffered,” began Patricia, 
thinking to divert her mind from herself, — 
“suffered dreadfully. You know, my father 
went over with the army when the war first 
broke out here, and when we bade him good-by, 
we knew there was a big chance of never seeing 
him again. But when we got word, a few 
months later, that he had been wounded and 
taken prisoner by the Germans, we were sure 
we should n’t. The suspense was simply 
frightful. I never want to go through such a 
thing again as long as I live. Six long months 
it was, and we had no idea what had happened 
to him. We almost hoped he was dead, be- 
cause the things we read of as happening to the 
prisoners were so unspeakable. And then he 
escaped and came back to us — we never knew 
a thing about it till he was brought home one 
day. I thought Mother would die with the joy 
of it. She ’s in a sanatorium now — getting 
over the shock of it all. So, you see, Virginie 
dear, I know what you have suffered, and I ’m 
46 


THE SHADOW ON THE WALL 

sure your troubles are going to vanish — ^just as 
ours did/’ 

But Virginie only shook her head. ‘Tt is 
not possible. You do not know all — you can- 
not. My father is — perhaps — ^worse than 
dead. He — but still, I feel very close to you. 
We have both suffered. We understand — 
each other. I — I love you!” And she kissed 
Patricia impulsively on both cheeks. 

Another silence followed, the girls sitting 
close together on the couch, in wordless, 
understanding sympathy. Suddenly Virginie 
sprang to her feet, her dark eyes gleaming. 
“Hush! Listen!” she cried. “I heard a 
strange rustling outside the door. Can it be — 
some one listening?” She hurried to the door 
and pulled it open, Patricia close at her heels. 
The corridor was empty. 

“It was probably only a maid going by,” 
laughed Patricia. “You ’re as scary as I am, 
I do believe. I heard it, too. But let ’s go 
and settle down again. I ’m sure we ’re going 
47 


THE CRIMSON PATCH 


to be the best kind of friends. Is n’t it lucky 
we ’re right across the hall from each other?” 

But Virginie did not assent to the latter 
question. Instead, she put one of her own. 
“Do you speak French at all?” she inquired. 
“I have studied the English, but I speak it with 
difficulty. I think only in French, and I can 
express myself better in that tongue. It is my 
native language.” 

“Oh, I’d love to talk French with you!” 
agreed Patricia, joyfully. “Father made me 
study it and speak it with him ever since I was 
a little girl. But I have n’t had much practice 
in it lately, and I don’t believe my accent is 
very good. We ’ll use it all the time, and you 
can tell me when I make mistakes.” 

So they began to chatter in French, to Vir- 
ginie’s evident relief, and her manner presently 
lost much of its restraint. At noon Patricia 
sent down for a delicious luncheon to be served 
for them both in the room, but was thoroughly 
disgusted to find that her pet aversion, Peter 


THE SHADOW ON THE WALL 


Stoger, had been sent up with it. And though 
he seemed anxious to arrange the table for 
them, she summarily dismissed him, shutting 
and locking the door after him with a shudder. 

‘T thoroughly detest that man,” she confided 
to Virginie. And, rather to her surprise, Vir- 
ginie heartily agreed with her. 

‘T know. I feel a great dislike toward him. 
I think he is an enemy. I think he is — ^watch- 
ing.” 

“Precisely what I've thought!” cried Patri- 
cia. “Is n’t it queer that we ’ve both felt the 
same about him I Ugh ! I wish now that we ’d 
gone down to the dining-room. We could have 
sat at your table. You have another waiter. 
Well, never mind. Let ’s enjoy ourselves 
now, anyway.” 

The afternoon wore away, finding the two 
girls still in each other’s company, still ex- 
changing girlish confidences over fancy-work 
and books. But they did not refer again to 
Virginie’s father, and both seemed to avoid 
49 


THE CRIMSON PATCH 

any reference to war subjects in general. Pa- 
tricia longed to take the girl more into her own 
confidence about her father and his affairs; but, 
mindful of Captain Meade’s constantly reit- 
erated warnings, she resisted the impulse. 

At half past five Virginie remarked that she 
must return to her room and dress for dinner, 
as Madame Vanderpoel would soon be back. 

“Tell me,” asked Patricia, “why do you not 
call her aunt, as she is your mother’s sister-in- 
law? It would be natural.” 

Virginie suddenly retired to her shell again. 
“I never have,” was all she vouchsafed. “I — 
do not know why — that is — ” They were 
walking toward the door as she replied. All at 
once she stopped, tensely rigid. “There it is 
again!” she whispered. “Do you not hear it?” 
There was indeed a curious intermittent sound, 
as of some one cautiously tiptoeing down the 
carpeted corridor. Patricia opened the door 
with a quick jerk. 

The hall again was empty. But at the far 
50 



“ You see,” whispered Virginia, clinging to Patricia spasmodically ! 


* 



THE SHADOW ON THE WALL 
end of the corridor, where it turned into an- 
other, the wall was illumined by a brilliant 
patch of sunlight from some window out of 
sight. And blackly on that patch of sunlight, 
as on a lighted screen, was outlined the sil- 
houette of a man’s form, and of something 
else that he evidently carried in his hands. 

“You see?” whispered Virginie, clinging to 
Patricia spasmodically. 

“Yes, I see!” answered Patricia. 

The motionless silhouette was unmistakably 
the form of Peter Stoger, carrying a tray. 


61 


CHAPTER IV 


THE CRIMSON PATCH 

“T DON’T like it at all, somehow, and yet I 
can’t exactly tell you why.” Captain 
Meade shuffled the books and magazines on the 
sitting-room table, rearranging them precisely 
and absent-mindedly. On his forehead was an 
anxious frown. 

“But, Daddy,” cried Patricia, “what possible 
objection can there be to my being friends with 
that lovely girl? She is so lonely and so sad! 
I just love her already. Think what she has 
suffered — and is still suffering ! It seems as if 
it would be simply cruel not to be friends with 
her now, after what she has told me.” 

“But the very things you ’ve told me about 
her and your conversations with her make me 
feel there ’s something strange about the whole 
52 


THE CRIMSON PATCH 


affair. She ’s not as candid and open in man- 
ner as I should like. She seems to be hiding 
something all the time. And her relationship 
to that Madame Vanderpoel appears singular. 
She says the woman is her aunt, by marriage, 
yet she does n’t seem to care to call her so. I 
am deeply sorry for the girl, if her story is true, 
as it probably is, but I feel as if there is much 
that she is concealing. And I frankly confess 
that I do not like this Madame Vanderpoel. 
Why should she have told you that the girl was 
ill with a severe headache, and then you go in 
and find her in the best of health, apparently? 
Things don’t hang together, somehow.” 

“Well, what am I going to do?” demanded 
Patricia, almost in tears. “Madame Vander- 
poel has invited me to go with them on a trip 
to Creston Beach tomorrow and spend the day 
with them there. I suppose she wants to do 
something in return for my looking after Vir- 
ginie today. She spoke to me about it as we 
passed her table tonight. You hpd gone on 
53 


THE CRIMSON PATCH 


ahead to speak to Mrs. Quale. I told her I ’d 
ask you about it. Are you going to say I 
mustn’t go?” 

The captain tugged at the end of his short 
mustache and strode up and down the room 
perplexedly. At length he spoke. “You 
simply must trust me in this matter, honey, and 
remember that I ’m not an old tyrant, but just 
a cautious Daddy, striving to do what is best 
for us all. You will have an engagement with 
Mrs. Quale to-morrow. Fortunately she sug- 
gested to me this evening that perhaps you 
would care to spend the morning with her and 
help her select some wall-papers for her house 
that is being re-built and decorated. And let 
me offer just this wee bit of advice. See as 
much as you want of this little Virginie when 
you can be with her alone. She is a poor, for- 
lorn child who is suffering greatly — of that I 
feel certain. And I believe there is no harm 
in her. But avoid, if you can, any engagement 
or invitation which includes the older woman.” 

54 


THE CRIMSON PATCH 


"‘F ather, what do you suspect her of ? What 
are your suspicions about her?’’ 

‘T suspect her of nothing. I do not care 
for her on general principles. Sometimes we 
have only instinct to trust, and mine tells me, 
just now, simply to be careful. That ’s all. 
Now call her up on the ’phone and say you 
will not be able to accompany them, and thank 
her, of course, for so kindly thinking of you.” 

Patricia did as she was bid, and was answered 
by Virginie, who said Madame Vanderpoel was 
not there. ‘T ’m so sorry that I ’ll not be able 
to go, but Father had made another engage- 
ment for me,” Patricia assured her, and there 
was a murmured reply over the instrument that 
the captain could not catch. But when Patri- 
cia hung up the receiver, her face was a study 
in perplexity. 

“What do you think she said. Daddy? T am 
not sorry. I enjoy seeing you more by our- 
selves.’ That was all, but isn’t it singular? 
I don’t believe she cares for that aunt of hers. 

55 


THE CRIMSON PATCH 


And yet, I can’t understand why. Madame 
Vanderpoel seems lovely, to me, and she ap- 
pears to be so fond of Virginie. I ’ll take the 
hint, however. And it fits in very nicely with 
what you advised me to do, too. Oh, by the 
way, Daddy, I nearly forgot to tell you what 
happened this afternoon. And if you don’t 
think that Peter Stoger is spying, after you 
hear it, I give up.” And she described to him 
the strange incident in the hall. 

This time the captain did not laugh at her 
fears. Instead, he frowned and looked wor- 
ried. ‘‘That does certainly seem suspicious. 
I ’ll have to look into the matter,” he vouch- 
safed, and refused to discuss the incident 
further. 

In the two weeks that elapsed after the fore- 
going incident, the friendship between the girls 
increased, after a fashion, but Patricia was at 
times sorely puzzled and perplexed by the 
strange moods and whims and actions of her 
56 


THE CRIMSON PATCH 

new companion. On one day they would be 
in each other’s company for several hours, 
visiting in the Meades’ attractive sitting-room, 
where they read or sewed, or taking long walks 
or trolley-rides into the country. On these oc- 
casions Virginie would be almost clinging in 
her confidence in, and affection for, Patricia. 
Not the tiniest flaw would mar their inter- 
course, and Patricia would acknowledge her- 
self more deeply interested than ever in this 
attractive girl. Then on the next day, per- 
haps for several days following, Virginie would 
seem distant, reserved, morose, sometimes al- 
most disagreeable. She would pass Patricia 
with the coldest nod, refuse to make any en- 
gagement to be with her, and almost seem to 
resent any advances toward the furtherance of 
their friendship. Patricia worried and grieved 
about it in secret, though she would not openly 
acknowledge, even to her father, that Virginie’s 
singular conduct hurt her. 

Madame Vanderpoel, on the contrary, al- 
57 


THE CRIMSON PATCH 
ways seemed most cordial and friendly, and 
while she never commented on her ward’s con- 
duct to Patricia, would often cast at her a de- 
precatory and apologetic glance when Virginie 
was more than usually disagreeable in manner. 
Plainly, the girl’s strange conduct tried her 
sorely, though she was always very sweet about 
it and ignored it whenever possible. Never 
again, since the first occasion, had she at- 
tempted to induce Patricia to accompany them 
anywhere or spend any time in their united 
company. Altogether, so thoughtful and 
agreeable was she, that Patricia, more fasci- 
nated by her than ever, often found herself 
wishing that she were at liberty to see more of 
this pleasant Madame Vanderpoel. 

One rainy afternoon. Captain Meade having 
gone out, to be away till a late hour that night 
on a lecture engagement, Patricia called up 
her friend on the house telephone to ask her to 
come across the hall and spend the rest of the 
day with her. She did this in considerable 
68 


THE CRIMSON PATCH 


trepidation, for Virginie had been more than 
usually morose and disagreeable and distant for 
a number of days past. As it happened, it 
was Madame Vanderpoel who answered the 
’phone. 

“Why certainly, my dear! Virginie will 
come over at once,” she replied cordially. 
“She has been quite lonely this afternoon, and 
wishing for something to do. You are very 
kind.” 

Patricia had just begun to frame an answer, 
when, somewhat to her surprise, the receiver at 
the other end was suddenly hung up and the 
connection cut. The action was very abrupt. 
And though she told herself she certainly must 
have been mistaken, she thought she had heard, 
before being cut off, a voice in the room with 
Madame Vanderpoel declaring, “J will not 
gor It was all very puzzling. 

Virginie did not come in for some time, and 
in the interval Patricia framed a resolution. 
She would fathom this girl’s singular conduct 
59 


THE CRIMSON PATCH 


to-day or never, even if she had to ask the most 
personal questions to do so. 

When the little Belgian at last arrived, she 
was polite, but distant, in manner, and dis- 
tinctly unhappy. To Patricia’s cordial re- 
marks she returned only monosyllabic answers, 
was restless and ill at ease. They were sitting 
together on the couch, each pretending to be 
deeply engrossed in her fancy-work, when Pa- 
tricia with wildly beating heart, suddenly deter- 
mined that the time had come to put her resolve 
into effect. 

“Virginie,” she began, abruptly turning to 
the girl, “won’t you tell me what is the trouble? 
What have I done to offend or annoy you? 
You are often so strange in yom' actions toward 
me. I cannot understand it. I — ” 

But she got no farther. To her intense 
amazement and dismay, Virginie suddenly 
threw herself across the couch in a passion of 
wild and violent weeping. It was several mo- 
60 


THE CRIMSON PATCH 

merits before Patricia could soothe her back to 
a state where she was able even to speak. 

“Oh, I knew you would think this! I knew 
it. I knew it!” she sobbed. “I knew the time 
would come when I must explain — or lose your 
friendship. If you only could trust me. If 
you only knew — ” 

Patricia, at a loss for words, could only 
squeeze her hand in silent assurance. 

“But you never will know — and I never can 
tell you!” she went on wildly. “I love you — 
I love you — as I love no one else on earth now 
— beside my father. Do you believe that?” 

“I believe it if you say so,” Patricia assured 
her quietly. “I feel sure you are telling me 
the truth.” Her calm, soothing manner was 
having its effect on the girl’s hysterical 
condition. Virginie herself suddenly became 
calmer. 

“I wish you would make a promise,” she con- 
tinued. “If you knew my life and all that I 
61 


THE CRIMSON PATCH 
have to endure, — all the puzzling, bewildering 
things that are pulling me this way and that — 
things that I perhaps can never tell you, be- 
cause they would concern others, — I know that 
you would promise me this, never to care 
whether my manner seems cold toward you; 
never to think unkind thoughts of me, no mat- 
ter how I may act — to say to yourself always, 
when I seem the worst, ‘ Virginie loves me ; she 
does not mean this mood for mef Could you 
make me that promise, Patricia? Some day, if 
God wills, I may be able to explain.” 

“Indeed, Virginie,” cried her companion, 
sincerely touched, “I trust you every way and 
always ! I ’ll never be annoyed any more, no 
matter how you act. I ’ll understand that it ’s 
something quite outside of myself that is caus- 
ing it. Will that make you feel any better?” 

Virginie did not answer in words, but the 
grateful pressure of her hands was sufficient re- 
sponse. The atmosphere having thus been 
cleared, Patricia abandoned the subject and 


THE CRIMSON PATCH 


plunged gaily into something quite different. 

“You told me once, Virginie,” she began, 
“that you had done a good deal of work in 
water-colors at various times, but you have 
never shown me any of your sketches. Have 
you any here with you, and if so, could I see 
them? I ’m awfully interested in that sort of 
thing, though I don’t do much of the kind my- 
self.” 

“Ah, yes!” cried Virginie, brightening at 
once. “I have a whole portfolio in my room. 
I will go to fetch it. I love the work, and I 
turn to it whenever I have an opportunity.” 
She ran out of the room and hurried back with 
a batch of color sketches that she spread out on 
the couch. They were really exceedingly 
clever, as Patricia recognized at once. 

“Why, this is wonderful. You are a real, 
out-and-out artist, and I never realized it be- 
fore!” she exclaimed enthusiastically. “I 
dabble a little in that sort of thing myself once 
in a while, but I ’m not a great success. I do 


THE CRIMSON PATCH 
wish I had inherited some of father’s artistic 
ability. He can do beautiful work, but I only 
just love it and admire it.” 

“Ah, your father is also an artist?” demanded 
Virginie, interested afresh. 

“Well, I don’t know that I ’d call him ex- 
actly an artist,^" qualified Patricia. He can 
draw and paint ’most everything fairly well, 
but he does excel in one thing. He ’s crazy 
about it, — it ’s a regular hobby with him, — en- 
tomology, you know, the study of bugs and 
moths and caterpillars and butterflies, and all 
that sort of thing. And he can make the most 
beautiful sketches of them. Many ’s the day 
I ’ve gone on a long butterfly hunt with him, 
and then have come home and watched him 
make sketches of the specimens we ’ve caught. 
Just let me show you some of the things he ’s 
done. I think he has a number of his pet 
sketches in his trunk. He never travels with- 
out them.” Patricia brought her father’s 
sketches and placed them in Virginie’s hands. 

64 * 


THE CRIMSON PATCH 


And now it was Virginie’s turn to exclaim 
over the really beautiful work of Captain 
Meade. There were caterpillars and moths 
and butterflies, executed with consummate 
skill and exquisitely colored; each labeled with 
its own name and species. Virginie marveled 
over their curious titles. 

“Ah, but see here, what singular names — 
‘The Silver Spot,’ ‘The Red Admiral,’ ‘The 
Painted Lady’! Why are they so called?” 

“I think it ’s mainly because of the different 
marking on the wings,” answered Patricia. 
“You see, each one — ^but what ’s that? Some 
one knocking?” She ran to the door and 
opened it. Madame Vanderpoel stood outside. 

“Do pardon me,” she began hesitatingly. 
“I am making this little blouse for Virginie 
and have just come to a place where I can go 
no farther till I try it on. May I come in?” 

“Why, surely!” returned Patricia, courte- 
ously, and Madame Vanderpoel entered. As 
Patricia had feared, however, there was an im- 
65 


THE CRIMSON PATCH 


mediate chilling of the atmosphere as far as 
Virginie was concerned. The girl said not a 
word, but obediently, if ungraciously, slipped 
the pretty blouse over her head and stood in 
silence while Madame Vanderpoel made some 
necessary alterations. The lady herself strove 
to appear quite unobservant of the change and 
chatted on brightly while she completed her 
work. Patricia, bewildered and uncomfort- 
able, also tried to appear as though nothing un- 
usual was the matter. But she found the task 
difficult. At length, Madame Vanderpoel, de- 
claring herself satisfied with the result, rose 
to go. While passing the table, however, she 
noticed Captain Meade’s sketches, and, laying 
down her sewdng, stopped to examine them. 

“Ah, what beautiful, what unusual work!” 
she murmured, taking them up, one by one, 
and asking Patricia some questions about them. 
But at last she took her departure. 

“Oh, by the way, may Virginie stay and 
have dinner with me here in our rooms?” ques- 
66 


THE CRIMSON PATCH 

tioned Patricia, before she left. Madame 
Vanderpoel gave her consent and was gone. 

It was some time before Virginie recovered 
her spirits after this interruption, but when she 
was herself again, the two girls resumed their 
now wholly delightful intercourse. 

“Let ’s send down for some sarsaparilla and 
fancy cakes!” suddenly cried Patricia. “I ’m 
hungry and thirsty, too, and it ’s a good while 
till dinner-time.” She telephoned her wish to 
the office, and Chester Jackson presently 
knocked at the door with the order. 

“Golly!” he cried suddenly, catching sight of 
the mass of sketches on the table, “but them ’s 
purty things! You ’d think they was the real 
article lit all over the place. Can I look at 
them?” Patricia laughingly gave her consent, 
and he turned them over, chuckling at their 
names. But he, too, at length departed, and 
the girls were not interrupted further till 
dinner-time, when Patricia asked to have the 
meal served in the room. 

67 


THE CRIMSON PATCH 

It was Peter Stoger who entered later with a 
heavily laden tray, approached the table, 
glanced about helplessly a moment, then 
planted the tray directly on top of all the 
sketches littered over its surface. 

“Oh, be careful!” cried Patricia, in dismay. 
“Don’t you see what you ’re doing? Hold the 
tray until I remove those things.” Peter in- 
differently lifted the tray while she hastily col- 
lected the sketches and put them aside. Then 
he stolidly resumed his work of arranging the 
meal, and withdrew. 

It was late when Captain Meade returned. 
Patricia had been telling how she had spent her 
day, and had just come to the part where she 
had showed his sketches to Virginie. 

“Great Jupiter! You did?'^ he cried dis- 
tractedly. “Why on earth did n’t I warn you 
not to ! I never dreamed you ’d be tempted to 
do such a thing. Where are they — quick?” 

Patricia watched him in a mystified daze as 
68 


THE CRIMSON PATCH 
he nervously shuffled them over. What could 
it all mean? Had she done wrong? 

“It’s just as I feared!” he groaned. ''The 
Crimson Patch is goner 


69 


CHAPTER V 


WHO TOOK IT? 

I T was a white-faced pair that finished a 
frantic, but thoroughly fruitless search, 
through every room of the suite for the lost 
sketch of the butterfly. The captain was too 
upset and nervous and unstrung by the occur- 
rence to comment on the subject, for a time, 
and Patricia too bewildered and unhappy to 
ask any questions. But when they had hunted 
through every conceivable nook and cranny in 
vain, they gave it up and sat down wearily to 
rest. The Crimson Patch was gone ! 

“But, Daddy,” moaned Patricia, “why did 
you never tell me there was anything important 
about these sketches? I never dreamed of 
such a thing. I would never, never have done 
what I did to-day if I had known.” 

70 


WHO TOOK IT? 


“That ’s just the trouble,” muttered Captain 
Meade. “There ’s nothing important about 
any of them except just that one — and that ’s — 
well, vital! I never told you about it, because 
it ’s safer for you and best all around that you 
know as little as possible of my affairs. Of 
course, it never crossed my mind that you ’d be 
moved to show them to any one. They ’re not 
a matter of general interest.” 

“But what is there about this sketch, the 
Crimson Patch butterfly, that is so important. 
Daddy, and why did n’t you keep it safely 
locked up ? I should n’t have thought you ’d 
leave it just lying loose in your trunk.” 

“The secret about this particular sketch, I 
do not think it best for you to know, even now. 
You ’ll always be in a safer position if you can 
truthfully say you know nothing about it. It 
looks very much the same as the others — but it 
is n't! That is all I can tell you. And I had 
an excellent reason for doing just as I did 
about it. Had I kept an important secret al- 
71 


THE CRIMSON PATCH 


ways about my person, or even under lock and 
key, it would, as a rule, be in far greater danger 
of discovery than if carefully concealed in some 
such fashion as this and left around as if there 
were nothing unusual about it. Don’t you un- 
derstand? But tell me again the whole history 
of the thing, and who came into the room while 
you had the sketches out, and when. We ’ve 
got to find the sketch as speedily as possible. 
Every moment that it is out of my hands is a 
dangerous loss of time.” 

Patricia patiently went over the history of 
the afternoon, recounting every detail she 
could remember. The captain listened in- 
tently, and sat for several moments in deep 
thought when she had finished. 

“Tell me one thing,” he suddenly demanded. 
“Do you distinctly remember seeing the Crim- 
son Patch among the sketches when you first 
looked them over? Think hard.” 

“Oh, I know it was there, because Virginie 
spoke of the curious name and I told her it was 
72 


WHO TOOK IT? 


given because of the two brilliant red spots on 
the wings. I know it was there.’’ 

“Then, as far as I can see,” went on Captain 
Meade, “there were no less than four people in 
the room, each of whom came in contact with 
those sketches, and any one of the four may 
have been the guilty party who took it. Your 
little friend, Virginie, handled them first, and 
when she left for the night, you say, she gath- 
ered up her own sketches?” 

“Daddy dear, you must not suspect hei ' — 
you simply must not!” cried Patricia, sensing 
at once what he was driving at. “I would 
rather be suspected myself than have any one 
dream she could do such a thing. And how on 
earth could she ever know that the sketch was 
of any particular value, anyway?” 

“What she may know or not know, I have n’t 
pretended to inquire, but you must certainly see 
how easy it would be for her to slip the thing 
into her own pile and walk off with it if she 
wanted.” 


73 


THE CRIMSON PATCH 

“Her own sketches were all on the couch,” 
protested Patricia, “and they never once were 
near yours. I saw her get them together be- 
fore she left.” 

“But was your back never turned on her dur- 
ing all the time mine were lying about?” 

Patricia put her head down on the couch pil- 
lows and sobbed audibly. 

“It seems too dreadful and unkind and mean 
to have such suspicions about her!” she wailed. 

“Now, Patricia dear, be sensible!” demanded 
the captain, despairingly. “I’m no more sus- 
picious of her than of any one else. I ’m only 
trying to sift the thing to the bottom. Let ’s 
leave her, for a moment, however. You say 
Madame Vanderpoel was the next one in. She 
stayed about fifteen minutes, examined the 
sketches, and went out. Tell me just exactly 
what she did before she looked them over.” 

“She glanced at them as she was passing out, 
asked me if she could look at them, placed her 
74 


WHO TOOK IT? 


sewing on the table, looked at them all, took up 
her sewing and went away.” 

“Did she put her sewing down near where 
they were on the table?” asked the captain. 

“Yes, because I remember that she had to 
move it once, in order to see one or two that 
were lying under it.” 

“Do you remember whether the Crimson 
Patch was among those she looked at or com- 
mented on?” 

“No, I don’t remember. I was busy taking 
out some stitches in my fancy-work at the time, 
— something that had gone wrong, — and I 
did n’t particularly notice what she said. But 
I ’m almost sure she did n’t mention that one.” 

“She might very easily have concealed it un- 
der her work and walked off with it,” he went 
on. “Of course, I don’t say she did, but she 
might have, had she been so inclined. Now, 
how about Chester Jackson?” 

“Oh, he could n’t possibly have taken a thing 
75 


THE CRIMSON PATCH 


without my knowing it. He just leaned over 
the table and looked at them all and giggled 
and laughed over their names and said they 
were ‘bully good stuflP.’ I saw him practically 
every minute of the time, except for two 
seconds when I ran into my room for another 
spool of thread. And he left without a thing 
in his hands that he could have hidden it in or 
under.” 

“The ‘two seconds’ you were out of the room 
might have been sufficient for him,” commented 
Captain Meade. “So he is n’t eliminated, 
either. But I rather suspect him less than any 
of the others. How about Peter?” 

""He "s the one, I have n’t a doubt. I always 
did suspect him of being up to something. Of 
course he took it. Daddy ! He went and set his 
tray right down on top of the whole lot of them, 
when he came in, in what I thought was the 
stupidest fashion, and I made him take it right 
up while I cleared them all aside. I believe he 
could have slipped the sketch under his tray 
76 


WHO TOOK IT? 


and kept it out of my :sight and got away with 
it without the slightest trouble. Can’t you see 
it, Daddy?” cried Patricia, eagerly. Captain 
Meade looked only half convinced. 

“Do you happen to remember whether that 
particular sketch was uppermost when he came 
in?” 

“No, I don’t honestly remember. But I 
know that the Purple Dart was uppermost 
when I moved them out of his way. It just 
happened to catch my eye in passing.” 

“Well, that proves nothing, of course. But 
the question now is, what in the world are we 
going to do about it? I dare not do any tele- 
phoning at this time of night (or rather, morn- 
ing, for it’s three o’clock!) or even go out, 
without exciting suspicion. And that ’s the 
last thing I want to attract to myself. Better 
have it appear that I care nothing about the 
sketch than to raise a breeze about its disap- 
pearance. I had thought that perhaps you 
might find out from your friend the Belgian 
77 


THE CRIMSON PATCH 


girl whether by any chance it had slipped in 
with her own by mistake. But that must be 
done later and done with the greatest caution or 
the fat will be in the fire. And it ’s too late to 
order anything brought to the room, or I might 
have a chance to interview our waiter and bell- 
boy. Nothing for it, I guess, but to go to bed 
and get what sleep we can. It ’s been a bad 
day’s work, honey, but don’t blame yourself for 
a single thing. It ’s only one of those un- 
pleasant combinations of fortune that will hap- 
pen, plan as we may. And don’t worry. 
That never did any good yet. Go to sleep and 
trust that everything ’s going to come out all 
right!” 

In spite of which injunction, however, no 
sleep visited the unhappy Patricia for the re- 
mainder of the night. 


78 


CHAPTER VI 


THE MYSTERY DEEPENS 

I CURING that sleepless night, however, 
Patricia laid some plans of her own, 
which she purposed to put into execution the 
next day. She felt weary and lifeless after the 
excitement and worry of the previous night and 
the hours of restless tossing that followed. 
Her father, likewise, seemed fatigued and de- 
pressed, though he strove hard, for her sake, as 
she privately surmised, to appear cheerful and 
hopeful. 

“We ’ll hurry through breakfast,” he told 
her, as they left the room, “and then I ’ll start 
out on the hunt. I ’ve been thinking over a 
few of the possibilities during the night, and 
some ideas have occurred to me that I did n’t 
think of at first. I want you to stay rather 
close to the room to-day — that is, don’t go out 
79 


THE CRIMSON PATCH 


for any length of time till I get back. I may 
not return before late afternoon, but don’t let 
that worry you. And don’t lose heart, honey ! 
It will probably turn out all right. By the 
way, when we get down to the dining-room, 
please try to act as nearly normal as possible, 
and as if nothing were wrong. It might be 
fatal to let the world at large notice thaVall is 
not as usual. And, of course, don’t touch this 
subject, as far as conversation goes, with a 
forty-foot pole!” 

His latter injunctions Patricia found rather 
difficult to carry out. It was far from easy to 
appear her usual care-free self when weighed 
down with such a hideous burden of trouble. 
If she had n’t felt the thing to be all her own 
fault, unwitting though it was, she could have 
borne it better. 

Most difficult of all was having to face Peter 
Stoger, who, in his usual leaden way, waited 
upon them. His dull stupidity, she always 
felt, covered a watchfulness, that being hidden, 
80 


THE MYSTERY DEEPENS 

was more trying than if it had been open and 
aboveboard. This morning she felt certain he 
was watching them both, with a covert keen- 
ness, when he thought himself unobserved. 
The captain treated Peter in precisely the same 
fashion as usual. Once only did she observe 
anything unusual in his manner. This was 
when the waiter, in passing behind him, brushed 
his shoulder with the edge of his tray. It was 
a trivial matter, and, so Patricia thought, 
would, as a rule, have called forth no comment 
from her father. But, rather to her surprise, 
the captain turned on him with an impatient 
gesture and the quite sharp remark, “Be care- 
ful, Peter 1’’ The man apologized almost 
servilely and backed away. 

“That shows how worried and tired and up- 
set Father is thought Patricia. “He does n’t 
usually act that way over such a little thing. 
He probably has his suspicions of that horrid 
man, too. I ’m afraid he ’s wishing he ’d taken 
my advice about him at first.” 

81 


THE CRIMSON PATCH 


Many times during the meal did she glance 
over toward the table usually occupied by Vir- 
ginie and Madame Vanderpoel, hoping, yet al- 
most dreading, to see them. But the table re- 
mained empty, nor did they appear at all in the 
dining-room during that meal. 

“Stay in the room as much as possible to- 
day,” the captain again warned her before he 
went away. “I don’t want to think of these 
premises being left free for any more queer 
things to happen.” 

“I will, but may I see Virginie?” 

“I don’t see any reason why you should n’t, 
especially if it comes about naturally. It won’t 
do to seem to avoid these people, either. But 
don’t force any meeting, and above all things, I 
hardly need warn you to say nothing about 
what has happened. That would spoil every- 
thing.” 

For some time after her father left, Patricia 
sat maturing her plans. See Virginie this day 
she must, and she thought it could be effected 
82 


THE MYSTERY DEEPENS 


in the most natural manner possible. She 
would ask her to bring her water-colors and 
sketches in again, and they would try to do 
some work, she (Patricia) attempting to make 
some copies of the sketches under Virginie’s 
direction. In some such natural way the con- 
versation might be led around to her father’s 
sketches, and she might have a chance to deter- 
mine whether the girl were at all involved in 
this dreadful affair. Nothing about it need be 
mentioned directly. Patricia felt sure she 
could determine, from Virginie’s manner, how 
much she knew. 

At ten o’clock she went over to the telephone 
and called up the office, asking to be connected 
with room 404. The reply she received, caused 
her a veritable shock. 

“The room is vacant.” 

^'Vacant?'^ she demanded. “You mean that 
Madame Vanderpoel and Mademoiselle de Vos 
are out?” 

“They have gone — left the hotel. They 
83 


THE CRIMSON PATCH 

gave up the room this morning and went away 
for good. ... No, they did n’t say where they 
were going or if they intended to return.” 

Patricia hung up the receiver and crept over 
to a chair by the window. A sort of black mist 
seemed to float before her eyes and her mind 
would register no impressions save trivial ones 
for a long while. She was aware of the distant 
roar of the city, borne across the more quiet 
stretches of the park outside her window, of the 
sparrows chattering in the branches, of the chil- 
dren romping in the quiet walks, the honking 
of an arriving automobile, and of little else. 

Then gradually her numbed brain recovered 
its normal action. Virginie and her aunt were 
gone and without a single word to her, a single 
farewell! Could their abrupt and mysterious 
departure indicate any but one fact? After 
the strange disappearance of her father’s 
sketch, what could it mean except that one or 
both of them were guilty and they were trying 
84 * 


THE MYSTERY DEEPENS 


to conceal it by flight? One or both of them! 
No it could not be that Virginie was concerned. 
She would never, never believe that. And yet, 
if it were not so, why had Virginie gone away 
without a single word to the friend whom she 
declared she loved next best to her father? 
Surely she could have managed to say a word 
or two over the telephone, or scribble a tiny 
note! Perhaps she had written a note and it 
would arrive later in the mail. Patricia quite 
brightened for a few moments, at the thought. 
She would wait and see what the day’s post 
brought. That would doubtless explain. 

The morning hours dragged by. The 
weather was stifling and humid, and Patricia 
sat by one of the opened windows of the dark- 
ened room. Try as she would, she could not 
keep her depressed thoughts from picturing the 
darkest aspect of everything. How her pleas- 
ant life had changed since yesterday at this 
time, her bright hopes and plans collapsed like 
85 


THE CRIMSON PATCH 


a fragile castle of cards! Who would have 
dreamed such a calamity could have befallen 
her? 

At noon she telephoned down to the office to 
ask for the mail, and also, as she felt no appe- 
tite, requested that some crackers and a glass 
of milk be sent up at the same time, to the 
room. That was all the luncheon she felt she 
could possibly manage. 

Chester Jackson arrived with the letters and 
her order a few moments later. The former 
she shuffied over nervously and hopefully. 
But they were only communications for her 
father, and nothing at all for her. The boy, 
watching her interestedly, noted the disap- 
pointment in her face. 

‘‘Miss your side-partner, don’t you?” he 
queried. 

“What ’s that?” she asked, absent-mindedly. 

“You miss the mam’selle across the way a bit, 
I figure. You and her seemed pretty thick.” 

“Yes, I do miss her very much,” acknowl- 
86 


THE MYSTERY DEEPENS 

edged Patricia, actually glad to have any one 
to speak to on the subject. “But I ’m awfully 
surprised that she went away so suddenly. I 
never even knew she was gone.” 

“You did n’t, hey? Well, looka here! She 
gave me a message to give to you — that is, she 
meant it for a message, I reckon, only she 
did n’t get it all off her mind.” 

“Oh, what was it?” cried Patricia, excitedly, 
her darkest suspicions of her friend vanishing 
at once. “I knew she would want to send 
some word to me.” 

“Well, it was this way. They sent down 
word to the office they was leavin’, and for some 
one to come up and help bring down their hand 
luggage. So I went up to get ’em. The 
missus was bustlin’ about good an’ lively, but 
the gal was sort of teary and not doin’ much. 
But when the little mam’selle handed me her 
grip, — the t’other one’s back was turned for a 
minute, — she whispered to me low, ‘Tell Miss 
Meade I ’m going — ’ But she did n’t get no 
87 


THE CRIMSON PATCH 


fui'ther, ’cause the other one turned round 
quick like an’ called me to come an’ help her 
strap a bag. An’ from that time till they left 
the place she never took her eyes offen the 
young ’un, an’ she never got no chance to 
finish it up. But I thought I ’d jest tell you 
that much, anyway.” 

“Oh, thank you so much for that, anyhow!” 
breathed Patricia. “But I can’t understand 
why she was afraid to say it right out and let 
her aunt hear. It seems very strange.” 

“You needn’t think that’s the only queer 
thing about that pair,” he hinted darkly. “I 
could tell you an earful if I chose !” 

Patricia was just on the point of begging him 
to do so, when some delicate instinct bade her 
desist. Was it, after all, kind, or even honor- 
able, to pry into the affairs of a friend, to hear 
“back-stair” gossip about them from a bell-boy 
in a hotel? 

“Well, thank you very much for delivering 
the message,” she remarked, “and please drop 
88 


THE MYSTERY DEEPENS 


this letter in the mail-chute as you go out.” 

And after he was gone, curious as she had 
been to hear what he had to say about them, she 
was glad she had resisted the temptation. 

The stifling afternoon dragged on. Patricia 
found ample food for thought in the news she 
had heard from the bell-boy, and spent the 
hours in fruitless surmise. On one score at 
least, she was relieved, almost happy. Virginie 
had not tried to slip away without letting her 
know she was going — perhaps she was trying 
to tell her destination ; perhaps she was promis- 
ing to write. But whatever it was, she had at 
least tried to send her some word. But why 
had her companion seemed to suspect it, to 
make it impossible? If indeed, she had! 
Why had not Madame Vanderpoel herself left 
a pleasant message of regret at leaving, when 
she had seemed so cordial, so friendly? Pa- 
tricia could not but admit that the action had a 
very dark and suspicious aspect, after what had 
happened the night before, 

89 


THE CRIMSON PATCH 
And that brought her back again to her own 
troubles: The Crimson Patch! — who had 
taken it? Which one of the four that had had 
access to the room last night had concealed and 
carried it away? All of a sudden she sat up 
very straight. There were not four — there 
were only three! For beyond all question she 
was certain now that Chester Jackson was in 
nowise concerned in the matter. She could not 
explain how she knew — she simply knew. 
Something in that honest, snub-nosed, smiling 
face, those candid, merry eyes, assured her. 
Chet Jackson was unquestionably eliminated 
from the subject, and the puzzle was reduced 
to a triangle. 

Half an hour later there was another knock 
at the door and Chester, re-appearing, pre- 
sented her with a special delivery letter. He 
stood informally watching her while she tore it 
open and read it breathlessly. It was from her 
father, written that morning from New York, 
and it told her that he thought he was on the 
90 


THE MYSTERY DEEPENS 


track of something that seemed important. 
The matter would keep him over night, 
but she must not be alarmed. She was to 
put herself in Mrs. Quale’s care from dinner- 
time on, and he would return the next day 
and tell her all about things. That was all. 

Though he had touched on nothing directly, 
Patricia was certain, of course, that he referred 
to the matter of the Crimson Patch. She was 
glad that he seemed to be in the way of dis- 
covering anything at all that would lead to the 
unraveling of their difficulty, but she felt sud- 
denly very forlorn at the thought of his being 
away over night for the first time. And Chet, 
watching her keenly, saw her face fall. 

“Any bad news?” he inquired casually. 

“No,” she replied, rather pleased to have 
some one to talk to, so lonely had been her day. 
“ Father ’s going to be away over night on some 
important business. I ’ll miss him awfully.” 

“Say!” ventured Chet, in a confidential tone, 
“I ask your pardon for speakin’ about it, but 
91 


THE CRIMSON PATCH 


you folks have had some trouble since yester- 
day, have n’t you?” 

Rather startled, Patricia nodded her head. 
Then she looked alarmed, to think that, by even 
so muchj she had revealed something of her 
father’s secret. 

“Never you mind!” Chet assured her. 
“Don’t get scared because you think you ’re 
giving anything away. I know a heap more 
than any one thinks I do.” And at her amazed 
expression, he added: 

“I ’m goin’ to tell you somethin’. It ’s a 
secret and don’t you let on to anybody. I ain’t 
goin’ to be a bell-hop all my life, I ain’t. I 
got ambition, and this here hotel life ain’t for 
me. 

“What — what are you going to be then?” 
stammered the astonished Patricia. 

“I ’m goin’ to be a detective or a secret serv- 
ice agent or somethin’ like that. I got it in 
me, I have. Sort of sense things out an’ nose 
’em down when no one suspects I ’m anything 
92 


THE MYSTERY DEEPENS 


but a ‘buttons’ in this here hotel. It ’s great 
sport. You see, not suspectin’ I got more’n 
enough sense to carry me through the day’s 
work, folks lets out a lot of things before me 
that they think I don’t catch on to, an’ I see a 
whole heap I ’m not supposed to see. An’ this 
here war has made a lot of lively doings about 
this place, I can tell you.” 

Patricia listened breathlessly. Here was 
confirmation of her own ideas, and more. Chet 
Jackson, beside being undoubtedly innocent of 
any complicity in the matter of the Crimson 
Patch might even become a valuable ally, if 
she did but dare to enhst his aid. She sud- 
denly decided on a bold move. 

“Chester,” she said, “if you ’re going to do 
any detective work, try and do a little for us. 
The only trouble is, I can’t tell you anything 
much about things, because they are very, very 
important secrets. So I don’t know how 
you ’re going to get to work on it.” 

“Don’t worry about tellin’ me so much. I 
93 


THE CRIMSON PATCH 

know a whole lot about you folks that you 
don’t think I do. You ’d be s’prised if I told 
you how much I do know!” Chet assured her 
darkly. ‘T gotta go now, because I been away 
from the office long enough. But next time I 
see you I ’ll tell you what I know an’ we can 
decide what I ’d better do. So long!” 

And he was gone, leaving her in a maze of 
wonder over this new development. 




CHAPTER VII 


LEFT ALONE 

P ATRICIA went back into the room and 
sat down to think it all over. Chester 
Jackson’s curious remarks had disturbed her 
strangely. What he had said about knowing 
“a heap more about things” than any one 
thought he did was a little alarming, to say 
the least. What did he — what could he know 
about her father’s affairs, and how could he 
have found it out? If only he had time to 
tell her before he rushed away, and not left her 
with this bewildering scrap of information! 

However, one thing was becoming every mo- 
ment more certain in her mind. The boy was 
innocent of any part in the disappearance of 
the Crimson Patch, and might, besides, be en- 
listed as an ally in its recovery, if only she dared 
95 


THE CRIMSON PATCH 

to confide in him more fully. She wished with 
all her soul that her father were with her, that 
he was not to be detained away over night. 
She wanted to talk it all over with him, to as- 
certain how much he thought it wise to trust 
this boy. But he was not here, and presently 
she must go and put herself in the care of Mrs. 
Quale for the night. Even now she ought to 
be calling up that lady on the telephone, as it 
was nearly dinner-time. 

She went to the telephone and asked to be 
connected with Mrs. Quale’s room. The re- 
ply. she received caused her a veritable shock. 

“Mrs. Quale came in a while ago and then 
went out again, saying she would be away over 
night in New York.” 

Patricia hung up the receiver and sat down 
in the nearest chair with a little, frightened 
shiver. She would be alone over night, in this 
big, strange hotel, surrounded perhaps by un- 
seen and unknown enemies. Oh, if she could 
only communicate with her father and urge him 
96 


LEFT ALONE 


to come back at once ! But that was not pos- 
sible. He had said he was in New York, but 
had given no address, probably because he was 
hurrying about from place to place and did not 
intend to stop anywhere for the night. It was 
certainly unfortunate that Mrs. Quale had 
elected to be away at the same time. Well, it 
was too bad, but it was not fatal. In all prob- 
ability, nothing unforeseen of any kind would 
happen. There was no reason why it should. 

Suddenly a bright idea came to her. If Mrs. 
Quale’s maid, Delia, had not accompanied her 
mistress to New York, why would it not be 
possible to ask her to come down and spend 
the night? Her companionship would be bet- 
ter than none at all. In the long weeks of her 
intimacy with Mrs. Quale, Patricia had grown 
to realize that Delia was becoming rather fond 
of her, in her queer, taciturn way, and would 
probably be glad to be of any help. She de- 
cided to go upstairs now to see her and talk it 


over. 


97 


THE CRIMSON PATCH 


Her interview proved rather a difficult one. 
Patricia had not Mrs. Quale’s ease in com- 
municating with a deaf person, and it was some 
time before Delia understood what she was 
driving at. And even when she did, there was 
hesitancy. 

‘T Ve a bad earache to-night,” she averred, 
‘‘that ’s why Mrs. Quale did n’t take me with 
her. I have it quite often. I ’m afraid I 
won’t be much company for you. Miss Pa- 
tricia, and I wanted to go to bed pretty early.” 

“Oh, I ’m not going to stay up late!” cried 
Patricia, “and, of course, you can have Father’s 
room. I just want you to be there near me. 
Father would be dreadfully upset if he thought 
I was here alone.” 

“Very well, then,” Delia consented at last. 
“To be sure, I would n’t have you worried, nor 
the captain worried about you, even if I am too 
miserable to hold up my head. I ’ll be down 
at half past eight. I ’ve things that will keep 
me busy till then.” 


98 


LEFT ALONE 


After that, Patricia decided to worry no fur- 
ther about the matter, dress for dinner, go 
down to the dining-room, and take her meal 
as if she expected her father at any minute. 
After that, she would read and sew and write 
some letters and go to bed as usual. The sen- 
sible resolve steadied her. She put on her 
lightest and coolest attire, for the evening was 
still very hot, and at a very early hour went 
down to the dining-room. She wanted to have 
this ordeal over as speedily as possible, for she 
dreaded sitting at her table alone and being 
waited on by Peter Stoger. 

To her intense surprise, he was not there. 
She was served by another waiter, and Peter 
did not appear during the entire meal. Where 
in the world could he be? She ventured to 
question the new attendant about the usual 
waiter, but received only the reply that he was 
away for the day. It was certainly all very 
mystifying. 

After dinner, which passed without any 
99 


THE CRIMSON PATCH 


unusual happenings, she went into the 
lounge, supplied herself with some new maga- 
zines, and hurried away to her room. The ab- 
sence of Peter Stoger disturbed her more than 
she cared to admit, even to herself. She dis- 
liked and feared him enough when he was pres- 
ent, but in his absence he seemed positively ter- 
rifying. She sat down by the window in the 
gathering twilight to think it all over. 

Three of them gone — the very three on 
whom suspicion rested most heavily 1 The 
Crimson Patch gone with them. Her father 
gone too, involved in who knew what troubles, 
what difficulties, in his search. What was this 
strange Crimson Patch, anyway? Patricia 
shut her eyes tight and strove to call up the 
image of the sketch as she had seen it last. It 
was nothing, it was absolutely nothing but the 
cleverly executed sketch in water-colors of a 
peculiar species of butterfly with a bright crim- 
son spot on each lower wing. There was noth- 
ing about it that was different, nothing that she 
100 


LEFT ALONE 


could remember, to distinguish it from the 
many other sketches in her father’s posses- 
sion. That it could harbor any secret, and 
especially any government secret, seemed abso- 
lutely absurd. And yet — it must be so. 

Then her mind wandered back to Virginie. 
Where was she now? What had she tried so 
hard to communicate in that broken, incomplete 
message to Chester Jackson? Would they 
ever see each other again? In twenty-four 
hours, life had suddenly assumed a very com- 
plicated aspect to Patricia. She could scarcely 
realize now how happy and care-free she had 
been last night at this very hour. It did not 
seem as if she could be the same person, so 
many were the perplexing problems on her 
mind. 

And this brought her thoughts back to Ches- 
ter Jackson. She must see him again, as soon 
as possible, and discover what it was that he 
knew about herself and her father and his af- 
fairs. She would call up the office and ask to 
101 


THE CRIMSON PATCH 


have something sent to the room. So deter- 
mined, she switched on the lights, went to the 
telephone and asked to have some of the hotel 
stationery sent up. There was nothing else she 
could think of, just at the moment. The knock 
at the door a few moments later sent her flying 
to it, her mind full of the questions she planned 
to ask. To her intense chagrin, it was another 
bell-boy who brought the paper. 

Scarcely able to murmur her thanks, she 
turned back into the room and shut the door. 
Had Chester, too, deserted her? What could 
possibly have happened? It was the flrst time 
she could remember that he had not personally 
answered the summons. If he had also, for 
some inscrutable reason, left the hotel on this 
fateful night, she would certainly feel herself 
to be deserted of all mankind. 


CHAPTER VIII 


A PIECE OF PAPER 

D elia having appeared at the time 
agreed on, and promptly withdrawing to 
her own room, Patricia continued to worry for 
an hour and a half over the problem 
that was perplexing her, trying vainly to 
write letters or concentrate her mind on a 
book. But it was useless, and at length she 
determined to put an end to her misery and 
suspense, in that direction at least, and ring for 
something else. If Chester Jackson did not 
answer this time, it would mean that he too had 
gone or been removed, and that she was left 
without a single friend to rely on. 

So once again she telephoned, this time for 
ice-water, and waited in breathless suspense for 
the answering knock. The curly head and 
103 


THE CRIMSON PATCH 


merry eyes of Chet Jackson at the door was 
like a bracing tonic to her overwrought nerves. 

“Oh!” she quavered. “Whatever happened 
to you? I thought you were gone, too.” 

He gazed at her in unfeigned astonishment. 
“I don’t get yer!” he remarked. “There ain’t 
nothin’ happened to meT 

She explained her agitation, and he laughed 
unfeelingly. “Gee! I gotta eat sometime or 
other. An’ half past seven’s about as early as 
I can usually strike it. You hit my supper 
hour, miss !” 

She laughed in relief and followed Chet as 
he came into the room to place the tray on the 
table. 

“Chester, I want to know the rest of what 
you were trying to tell me this afternoon. 
What is it that you have found out? And how 
have you discovered things?” 

He glanced about the room cautiously, then 
tiptoed over and closed the door into the hall. 

“You can’t be too careful in this place,” he 
104 * 


A PIECE OF PAPER 


said apologetically. “I ’ll tell you all I can in 
the little time I can spare, an’ if I don’t have a 
chance to finish it now, I will come some other 
time. I bet you ’ll hardly believe me, but I 
knew before ever you folks landed here that 
your dad — beg pardon! — that the captain was 
cornin’ here an that he had something secret an’ 
important for the Gov’ment up his sleeve.” 

Patricia started involuntarily. “How — 
how did you know that?” she stammered. 

He grinned. “I told you I could make you 
sit up an’ take notice. Now 1 guess you ’ll 
believe me! Well, I doped that out from the 
conversation of two gents who had a room here 
for a couple of nights an’ left the day before 
you came. They was sending for things con- 
stant, eats and drinks an’ what not, — an’ I was 
kept runnin’ to their room as reg’lar as clock- 
work. I got onto the fact that they was on the 
watch for some one from one or two things 
they said before me. They seemed to think I 
was deaf or dumb or had n’t any brains, just 
105 


THE CRIMSON PATCH 


because I was only a bell-hop, an’ you bet I 
acted the part all right. So they often talked 
right out before me, seemin’ to think I 
would n’t take it in. 

‘‘Once, when I came in, one of ’em was 
sayin’, ‘He ’s a captain in the army, but he ’s 
not on active service ’cause he ’s been wounded ; 
but I got word from headquarters he ’s doin’ 
something worth lookin’ into. He ’s cornin’ 
here in a day or two. He ’s got to be watched 
an’ watched hard. He ’s camouflagin’ it, too, 
with some lecture stuff or other, but that don’t 
count.’ ’Nother time, one of ’em says: ‘He 
arrives to-morrow, so we ’ll disappear to-night. 
But it ’s all right. Franz is on the job, and so 
will Hofmeyer be, after to-morrow.’ 

“Well, there was other things, too, little 
things I can’t remember now, but I says to 
myself, ‘This here looks shady, Chet; better 
get on the job an’ do a little detectin’ work 
on your own! I didn’t know this ‘captain’ 
from Adam, but I hate to see any one get done, 
106 


A PIECE OF PAPER 


especially by a pair of Huns, like them two 
looked, so I decided to keep my eyes open. 
Well, sure enough, them two gave up their 
room the night before you came, an’ I ’ve never 
laid eyes on ’em since. The next day you ar- 
rived, an’ I just naturally cottoned to you 
both right away. You ’re the right sort. You 
don’t act as if a bell-hop was made of wood 
an’ had n’t any brains or any feelin’s either. 
You treat ’em like human beings. An’ your 
dad — I mean your father — ^gee! I could lie 
down an’ let him walk all over me if he wanted 
to! 

“An’ I made up my mind more than ever 
that I was n’t goin’ to let any one put it over 
you two if I could help it. So I kept my eyes 
open an’ managed it so ’s I could answer most 
of the calls in this corridor. An’ I ’ve seen a 
few little things that would bear lookin’ into.” 

Patricia had stood drinking in this informa- 
tion with swiftly beating heart. “Chester,” 
she exclaimed softly, “this is fine of you, and I 
107 


THE CRIMSON PATCH 


appreciate what you have done more than I can 
tell you, and so would Father if he knew ! But 
tell me, who is this ‘Franz’ and ‘Hofmeyer’? 
Have you discovered that? I have a special 
reason for asking.” 

“There ain’t any one in this place who goes 
by either of them two names,” he replied, “but 
of course that don’t count. Naturally, they 
ain’t the names any one would hand in here. 
But I got my suspicions about one person in 
this here hotel, an’ I think I don’t have to give 
you a hundred guesses who, either.” He 
looked at her meaningly. 

“You — you mean the waiter, Peter Stoger?” 
she hesitated. 

“You said it!” he remarked succinctly. 
“He ’s a shady one, all right! Say, if you ’ll 
believe me, I seen him once without his gilt 
teeth — ” 

“What?” gasped Patricia, incredulously. 

“Yep, they was nothin’ but a set of false 
caps, fit on over his real teeth. He was hur- 
108 


A PIECE OF PAPER 


ryin’ down the hall from his room, an’ I guess 
he ’d had ’em off an’ forgotten ’em. After I 
passed him, I looked back an’ saw him take 
somethin’ out of his pocket an’ raise his hands 
to his mouth. Oh, he ’s slick, all right! An’ 
that funny droop in his eye, too. Once in a 
while he ain’t got that, either. He can do it 
himself somehow or other. They ’re both just 
disguises, that ’s all. An’ I bet my hat he ’s 
either Franz or Hofmeyer, for looka here : he 
came the same day you folks did.” 

“Oh, I knew it!” sighed Patricia. “I knew 
there was something wrong about him. I ’ve 
felt it all along. But tell me, Chester, one 
more thing. I must ask it, though I hate to. 
Have you ever discovered anything — queer 
about — about Madame Vanderpoel and — and 
Mademoiselle de Vos? I hate to ask it about 
them, but — but I have a reason.” 

“They was a curious pair, all right,” replied 
Chet musingly. “An’ I could never rightly 
make ’em out. At first I was on to ’em good 
109 


THE CRIMSON PATCH 


an’ proper, because the madame had her room 
changed from one on the next floor to down 
here right opposite you. An’ she sure did act 
queer to that little mam’selle; or at least the 
mam’selle acted queer to her — as if she just 
could n’t stand her. But I never saw the ma- 
dame act ugly to her till to-day when she 
wouldn’t give her a chance to send you that 
message. I watched ’em like a cat, but I never 
saw nothin’ that made me suspicious that they 
was harmful to you folks, an’ you seemed to 
cotton so to the little mam’selle. But there 
was somethin’ always that seemed to me blamed 
funny in the way she hated that madame, an’ 
it used to make me want to find out why. 

“But say, I gotta go down now. I don’t 
darst stay here another minute, this trip. But 
before I go, I ’ll tell you this much. After 
that pair left to-day, I had an errand on this 
floor, an’ I just sauntered into their vacant 
room a moment, before the chambermaid 
cleaned it up, to have a look around. They 
110 


A PIECE OF PAPER 
had n’t left nothin’ of interest, that I could see, 
except just this. I found it in the waste-bas- 
ket. Maybe you ’d like to have it.” 

He thrust a piece of torn and crumpled pa- 
per into Patricia’s hand and was gone before 
she had time to say another word. 


111 


CHAPTER IX 


A MESSAGE IN THE NIGHT 

P ATRICIA took the crumpled scrap of 
paper to the table and smoothed it out un- 
der the lamp. It was a single sheet and was 
torn almost in two, one way across and par- 
tially along all its edges, as if an attempt had 
been made to destroy it, an attempt that had 
not been totally successful, probably because 
the paper was rather thick and tough. It 
looked very much as if some one had tried at 
first to tear it in pieces, and, not having suc- 
ceeded in this, had simply crumpled it and 
thrown it away. The writing was in a fine, 
cramped, almost foreign-looking hand. And 
the note, for such it appeared to be, was un- 
addressed, beginning abruptly, without a name, 
and signed at the end with only an initial. 
112 


A MESSAGE IN THE NIGHT 


Patricia read it through wonderingly. It ran 
thus : 

“Mary and George have arrived. Heard 
they got home yesterday. Can it be true? 
Let no circumstances detain you. Need I say 
more to you? If they stay in town while here, 
I can no longer visit them. We go out every 
week to see cousins. Their house is quite new 
in the suburbs. See Hanford before you 
leave. At a store there once had good cream. 
Meet Mary soon and you will find Josephine 
there. 

“Well of all the silly letters!” thought Pa- 
tricia, after the first reading. “What can it 
all mean? Of course, it refers to people and 
circumstances I don’t know anything about, but 
even so, it sounds sort of scrappy. I wonder 
why Chet wanted me to read it? I suppose I 
really should n’t have done so. I feel as if I ’d 
been prying into some one’s affairs in a rather 
horrid way, reading the letter they thought they 
113 


THE CRIMSON PATCH 


had destroyed. I suppose it was one of Ma- 
dame VanderpoeFs. It is n’t in the least in- 
teresting, anyway, and I do wonder why Chet 
saved it and asked me to read it. All I get 
from it is that somebody ‘arrived’ and she had 
to go, probably to meet them. Perhaps that 
explains why they left so suddenly. Well, 
Chester will have to explain later why he 
thought it worth showing to me.” 

Then her mind reverted to the strange, un- 
nerving revelations the boy had made concern- 
ing her father, the unknown pair who had 
known so much about his affairs and had left 
before they arrived, and the terrible Franz and 
Hofmeyer who had doubtless been spying on 
them all the time, and who, even now, were 
probably in possession of the Crimson Patch. 
And Peter Stoger — spy without doubt and a 
disguised one at that — confirming her worst 
suspicions of him ! By what a hideous net they 
were surrounded ! And her father did not even 
know all these details. How helpful they 
lU 


A MESSAGE IN THE NIGHT 
might be to him in his search, if she could only 
put him in possession of the facts. But that 
was impossible till he was with her again in 
person. And meantime, there was all this long 
night to be got through, without her father 
to share her anxiety. 

She took up the crumpled note once more 
and read it again, critically. At the second 
reading it struck her as even more foolish and 
disjointed than at first. It really meant very 
little when boiled down to the bare facts. It 
seemed scarcely possible that Madame Vander- 
poel could find any very informing news in it. 

While she was still studying it, the tele- 
phone rang with a sudden shrillness that caused 
her to jump, and she hurried over to take down 
the receiver. 

“Hello! hello!” she heard from very far 
away. “Is that you, Patricia?” And she 
recognized her father’s voice. 

“Oh, yes, yes. Daddy! Where are you? 
Are you coming back to-night?” 

115 


THE CRIMSON PATCH 


“No, I cannot do that,” came the answer. 
“I called up to see whether you were all right. 
I was a little worried about you. How are 
you getting on?” 

Patricia was on the point of telling him all 
her troubles and her loneliness and the absence 
of Mrs. Quale, when something stopped her. 
Her father was having far heavier worries of 
his own. Why should she burden him with 
these lighter ones? It would help him far more 
if she put a brave face on everything and an- 
swered him cheerfully, so she summoned all 
her courage and answered brightly: 

“I ’m all right. Daddy. Fine as a fiddle. 
But tell me, are you succeeding? Have you 
had any luck?” 

“We Ve struck something that looks very 
important,” he returned. “But I ’ll have to 
tell you, dear, that it may keep me away an- 
other whole day, and possibly even over another 
night. You must get along somehow. Keep 
Mrs. Quale close to you. Tell her it ’s very 
116 


A MESSAGE IN THE NIGHT 


urgent. I ’ll call up to-morrow night, if possi- 
ble, but I may not have another chance before 
that. Now I must stop, for this is long dis- 
tance and costing like Sancho. Can you man- 
age, honey?” 

“Yes, oh, yes!” she assured him in a voice 
from which she tried to keep a quaver of fear. 

“Then, good-bye!” 

Patricia hung up the receiver and walked 
back to the table in a daze. Not a single 
chance had she had to tell her father some of 
the important details revealed by Chester 
Jackson; and even if the chance had presented 
itself, she doubted if it would have been wise 
to divulge them over the telephone. But if her 
father were on the track of any important dis- 
covery, perhaps it was just as well that she 
had not. And by the way, he had said, ‘"we ^ve 
struck something!” now what in the world 
could he mean by “we?"' She had not sup- 
posed that he would admit any one else into the 
secret. Well, it was all very mysterious, and 
117 


THE CRIMSON PATCH 


it was growing more so every moment. And 
he was to be away at least twenty-four hours 
longer ! 

Again her glance fell on the foolish and dis- 
jointed little note lying on the table, and it 
vaguely disturbed her. Its very lack of mean- 
ing held something sinister in it. She looked 
at her watch and took a sudden resolution. It 
was not yet quite ten. She must see Chester 
Jackson once more before he went to his own 
home for the night, and she remembered that 
he had said he went off duty at ten-thirty. 

‘T don’t know what the hotel people will 
think of my wanting so many things,” and she 
smiled rather ruefully, ‘‘but I don’t very much 
care. This is too important.” She went to 
the telephone and ordered a glass of milk and 
some crackers to be sent up. 

Jackson arrived in a few minutes with the 
tray and a broad grin. 

“I thought you ’d be needin’ something else 
after a while!” he remarked, as he placed the 
118 


A MESSAGE IN THE NIGHT 


tray on the table. “Make anything out of the 
nice little note I handed you?’’ 

“Why no. It seems to me simply crazy. 
There does n’t seem to be any sense to it, not 
even if one knew all the people and circum- 
stances it referred to. Can you make anything 
of it?” 

“I didn’t at first,” he replied; “but I just 
naturally doped it out that there was something 
shifty about it. So I took it all to pieces, and 
put it together again, and turned it every which 
way, and all at once I got on to it. You can 
just het it means something, and something 
pretty slick at that!” 

“Oh, tell me. Tell me quickly! ’ cried Pa- 
tricia. “How did you find it all out?” 

“Well,” began Chet, plainly enjoying very 
much his role of Sherlock Holmes, “there was 
just one word in the thing that made me sit 
up and take notice. And that word was ‘Han- 
ford.’ Do you know what Hanford is?” 

Patricia shook her head. 

119 


THE CRIMSON PATCH 


“Well, it ’s a little two-cent hole of a town 
about ten miles from here. Nothin’ special to 
it at all, just a little, one-horse country town 
with about thirty houses and a couple of hun- 
dred inhabitants. There ain’t any reason on 
this livin’ earth why any one should ‘see Han- 
ford,’ because there ain’t nothin’ in it to see! 
So I just shied at that, I did. An’ I took 
Hanford as a startin’ point, an’ I turned and 
twisted that note inside out and upside down 
till, all off a sudden, I struck it! I gotta go 
now. I got another call to tend to on this 
floor. But you just take that note and put a 
pencil mark under every fourth word and copy 
them out afterward an’ see what you get. I ’ll 
be back after a while to get this tray. Don’t 
forget — every fourth wordr 

When he was gone, Patricia got a pencil 
and paper and did as he had instructed her. 
She counted off every fourth word in the letter, 
underlined it, and feverishly copied down the 
sequence. The result caused her to drop her 
UO 


A MESSAGE IN THE NIGHT 
pencil and sit staring at the paper, while a 
shiver of fear ran icily down her spine. The 
reconstructed letter ran: 

Have got it. No need to stay here longer. Go 
to house in Hanford at once. Meet you there. 

F. 

The meaning of the communication was only 
too clear. 

Ten minutes later there was a knock at the 
door and Chet reappeared. He only glanced 
at the sentences she had written and remarked : 

'‘Guess that made you sit up and take notice, 
didn’t it?” 

"Oh, Chester,” she moaned. "It’s awful! 
It just confirms my worst suspicions. Do you 
suppose some one sent it to Madame — Van- 
derpoel? Who — who could it have been?” 

"We can be pretty plum sure of one thing,” 
remarked Chet. "The note is signed ‘F’ an’ it 
don’t take much guessin’ to dope out that F 
stands for Franz; but who Franz is, unless it ’s 
that slick Peter Stoger, I can’t guess. But as 
Peter has lit out too, we wouldn’t be so far 
121 


THE CRIMSON PATCH 


off to take it for Peter, I fancy. But say, 
Miss, will you pardon me if I ask an awful 
personal question? Did you folks lose any- 
thing or miss anything before last night? If 
you have n’t, I don’t quite get what it means 
by those words, ‘Have got it.’ ” 

Patricia thought hard for a moment. 
Should she or should she not confide in this 
boy the secret she had been guarding for her 
father? What would her father wish her to 
do? It was plain that he knew a great deal 
about their affairs already, and was as honest 
and straightforward as even her father could 
wish. Perhaps, too, he might be of infinite 
help in unraveling the tangle. She would risk 
it. She would risk all and tell him. But she 
felt firmly convinced that the risk was not very 
great. 

“Yes, Chester,” she acknowledged. “We 
have missed something — the most important 
thing my father has. You wouldn’t think 


A MESSAGE IN THE NIGHT 


so to look at it, for it is only one of those pretty 
sketches of butterflies that you were looking at 
yesterday. I did n’t know about it at the time, 
or I would n’t have left it around ; but some- 
time during that afternoon or evening it disap- 
peared, and Father is almost frantic about it. 
He is off hunting for it now, and has been ever 
since morning. I — oh, I just hate to think 
that Madame Vanderpoel or Mademoiselle de 
Vos took it or were in any way concerned with 
it. I — I think an awful lot of Mademoiselle 
Virginie. We — we were friends.” 

Chet scratched his head and thought deeply 
for several moments. “Which sketch was it, 
if I may ask?” he said at length. 

“The one called the Crimson Patch,” she re- 
plied. “Do you remember seeing it?” 

“You bet I do!” he cried enthusiastically. 
“I remember that one particular because it had 
a queer name and was such a purty one. Gee ! 
that proves one thing, at least. It did n’t dis- 
123 


THE CRIMSON PATCH 


appear before I come in, so the responsible 
party must have come afterward. Who was 
in here later?” 

“Why, only Peter Stoger and Virginie. 
But she did n’t take it, I know. I will never, 
never believe such a thing of herT 

“Sure she didn’t!” agreed Chet. “It must 
have been Peter. Of course it was Peter, don’t 
you see? ’Cause if he ’s Franz, he sends a note 
afterward to the madame that he ’s got it, an’ 
they all beat it out of here. Can’t get it any 
straighter than thatr 

“But what has poor little Virginie to do with 
all this?” wondered Patricia, distractedly. 
“Surely — surely she can’t be working with a 
lot of horrid spies. What is the explanation?” 

“You can search me!” rejoined the boy. “I 
ain’t on to the dope about that little mam’selle 
an’ never was. She ’s a plum deep mystery, 
she is. But one thing is sure — ” 

At that moment the telephone bell rang 
again, and they both jumped nervously. Pa- 
124 


A MESSAGE IN THE NIGHT 

tricia went to it and took down the receiver. 
There was a faint, “Hello!” to which she^re- 
sponded, and then silence. 

“Why, that’s queer!” she said in an aside 
to Chester. “Nobody seems to answer. And 
the voice that said hello first seemed so far- 
away and scared — ” 

“Hello! hello!” she exclaimed again, turning 
to the receiver. “Yes, yes, tjiis is Patricia. 
. . . Oh, Virginie! is it you? . . . Oh, I can’t 
hear you very well. Can’t you speak a little 
louder? ... You can’t? . . . What is that 
you say? ... You want to warn me. . . . 
What about? I don’t understand. . . . There 
is danger? . . . Who is in danger? . . . lam? 
... We both are? . . . Oh, can’t you tell me 
more plainly? Where are you? ... You 
are . . . where?” 

“Oh !” cried Patricia, turning to the listening 
boy. “She hung up the receiver without tell- 
ing me!” 


125 


CHAPTER X 


A COUNCIL OF WAR 

T hey stared at each other a moment in 
bewilderment. It was Chester who 
spoke first. 

‘‘Are you sure it was the little mam’selle?’’ 
he questioned. “Did it sound like her voice ?” 

“Oh, it was Virginie! I’m absolutely cer- 
tain of it. I ’d know her voice a thousand miles 
away. But what does it all mean? She says 
there is danger — that both she and I are in 
danger, and she was trying to warn me about 
it. But she spoke so low, and she hesitated so, 
and then, just as she was going to tell me where 
she was, there was the click of the receiver be- 
ing hung up and not another word. What 
does it mean?” 

“It means,” affirmed the boy, after some 
126 


A COUNCIL OF WAR 


thought, “that the little un was speakin’ to you 
over the ’phone on the q. t., an’ she was proba- 
bly scared stiff for fear she ’d be caught, an’ 
she had to leave off before she ’d finished be- 
cause some one was cornin’ along or somethin’. 
That ’s the way I figure it.” 

“I believe you’re right!” declared Patricia. 
“That ’s just the way her voice sounded — 
‘scared stiff,’ as you say. But what on earth 
are we going to do? She’s in danger and we 
don’t even know where she is ; and I ’m in dan- 
ger and I ’m here all alone, except for Mrs. 
Quale’s Deha, who is with me for to-night. 
It ’s dreadful. Just dreadful! I don’t know 
which way to turn. I ’d call up the police and 
put the thing in their hands if I dared. But I 
don’t dare. It would spoil everything for 
Father if anything about this secret became 
generally known, and I don’t even think I 
ought to speak to the hotel authorities for the 
same reason. What am I going to do?” 

“Looka here, Miss,” began Chet, quietly, “I 
1^7 


THE CRIMSON PATCH 


believe we can fix things pretty near to all 
right. If you ’d just be willin’ to trust the 
matter to me. I know I ’m only a bell-hop, but 
I know a whole heap more ’n most folks think 
I do ; an’ bein’ only a bell-hop is the very rea- 
son I can go and see an’ do a lot that others 
could n’t, just cause nobody’s suspectin’ I ’m 
up to anything. Do you get me?” 

“Y-yes,” faltered Patricia. ‘T think I see 
what you ’re driving at and I really trust you 
absolutely. But what is your idea? What do 
you think had better be done?” 

The boy seemed to grow an inch taller with 
pride at Patricia’s assertion of her faith and 
trust in him. His snub-nosed countenance 
fairly beamed. “Well, here ’s my idea. I 
gotta go off duty pretty soon an’ go home. I 
ought n’t to be bangin’ around here now. I ’ll 
get what-for down in the office for bein’ away 
so long, anyhow. But I don’t care. All in 
the day’s work! Now, I figure it this way. 

128 


A COUNCIL OF WAR 


There ain’t anything dangerous goin’ to hap- 
pen to you to-night in this here hotel. You ’re 
as safe as a church here as long as you keep 
your door locked. If you feel nervous, better 
sit up as long as you can, an’ read or some- 
thing. Then if you should see or hear any- 
thing queer, call right down to the office on the 
’phone. You ’d have the house detective up 
here so quick it ’d make you blink. 

“But I ’ll tell you what I ’ll do besides. I ’ll 
beat it home as fast as I can (I don’t live so 
very far off) an’ let my mother know where I 
am. Then I ’ll take my motor-cycle (the one 
I bought for thirty dollars an’ put in order an’ 
it runs like a bird!) an’ I ’ll cruise around all 
night. An’ every once in a while I ’ll turn up 
in the park right below your windows an’ hang 
around a while an’ whistle, Tt ’s a long, long 
trail.’ You’ll hear me plain enough, for 
you ’re only on the third floor. An’ if every- 
thing ain’t goin’ all right, pull the shade clean 
129 


THE CRIMSON PATCH 


up to the top, an’ I ’ll know somethin’s wrong 
an’ butt in here an’ make it hot for every one 
generally. 

“Oh, Chester, that ’s awfully good of you!” 
sighed Patricia, in mingled admiration and re- 
lief. “It will make me feel lots easier. I 
know I can’t sleep a wink, so I might just as 
well sit up and try to read or sew. I ’ll keep 
the lights full on, and I ’ll follow your advice 
about calling up the office if I think every- 
thing ’s not all right. But it will be such a 
comfort to know that you will be nearby once 
in a while. Only it does n’t seem as if you 
ought to be up all night when you ’ve got to 
work to-morrow.” 

“Don’t you mind about me!” he assured 
her. “To-morrow ’s my day off, an’ I don’t 
have to show up here at all till ten-thirty P. M., 
when I go on night duty. You know I have 
one day a week.” 

“But, Chester,” cried Patricia, in fresh 
alarm, “then I shall be all alone here to-mor- 
180 


A COUNCIL OF WAR 


row, for Mrs. Quale may not be back till night, 
and I ’m sure Father won’t. I suppose I ’m 
silly, but this thing is so dreadfully mysteri- 
ous and — and uncertain that I ’m just as much 
afraid of it in the daytime as I am at night.” 

“You just quit worryin’ about to-morrow,” 
admonished Chet. “I got a scheme up my 
sleeve for to-morrow, but you ’ll hear more 
about that from me later. All I say about to- 
morrow is this ; go down to breakfast as usual 
and as early as possible and ask for your mail 
at the desk before you eat. Then we ’ll see 
what to do next.” 

“But,” objected Patricia, once more, “what 
about poor little Virginie? She is in danger 
too — and we don’t even know where she is or 
what the danger is. Yet I feel as if we ought 
to do something about it. It is n’t right to 
leave her, is it, without trying to do a thing — ” 

“You just leave the little mam’selle’s affairs 
to me too, for to-night, an’ don’t worry about 
’em no further,” interrupted the boy. “I ain’t 
131 


THE CRIMSON PATCH 

got time to tell you all I plan to do, but you 
can bet your boots I ain’t goin’ to be idle. 
Good night, an’ don’t forget to go to break- 
fast an’ get your mail early T 

And Chester Jackson retired, closing the 
door behind him. 


132 


CHAPTER XI 


AN ADVENTUROUS MISSION 

T he endless night was over at last. 

Through her windows, which faced east, 
Patricia noticed that the sky was faintly 
streaked with pale light, each moment growing 
more distinct. She had endured almost seven 
hours of unbroken, nerve-racking suspense, yet 
nothing alarming had happened. All night 
she had huddled in a chair by the living-room 
table, the electric lights full on, even to the 
farthest wall-bracket, listening breathlessly to 
the faintest creak or rustle, starting terror- 
stricken at a sudden flapping of the window- 
shade, crouching rigid at the slightest footfall 
outside her door. 

Yet the cheering whistle of the war’s most 
popular tune, every hour or so, in the park be- 
133 


THE CRIMSON PATCH 
low, assured her that Chet was true to his 
promise, even if the loud chugging of his mo- 
tor-cycle had not likewise informed her of his 
intermittent presence. He was certainly prov- 
ing himself a friend, and a staunch one, in this 
time of her dire need. 

With the coming of daylight she turned off 
the lights and lay down awhile, exhausted by 
the night’s vigil, but she did not sleep. She 
heard Delia go quietly out soon after six. At 
seven she prepared to go down to breakfast, 
and promptly at seven-thirty stopped at the 
desk in the lounge for her mail, as Chet had 
directed. She found that she had two letters, 
one a short note from Mrs. Quale, explaining 
that she had been called away suddenly to New 
York by the illness of a niece, but expected to 
be back that evening, and hoping Patricia had 
not needed her in the meantime. 

“She little knows how much I did need her!” 
sighed Patricia. “But thank goodness! she’s 
coming back to-night. I could n’t — I simply 
134 


AN ADVENTUROUS MISSION 


couldn’t go through another night like lastl” 

The other letter was directed to her in a 
handwriting she did not recognize, and she pre- 
pared to read it while she was waiting for her 
breakfast to be served. To her immense re- 
lief, Peter Stoger v/as still absent. She had 
had the horrible suspicion that he might be 
there once again to spy on her, perhaps even 
to be the instrument of the threatened ‘‘dan- 
ger.” 

While waiting for her cantaloupe she opened 
the second missive and read it through in 
startled wonder. It was written in pencil and 
marked midnight of the night before. It was 
inscribed also with a fine disregard of spelling, 
punctuation, and grammar, was only a few 
sentences long, and signed at the end, “C. J.” 
It ran as follows: 

Deer MisSy 

I done a heap of scooting around last night on my 
moter-cicle and I found out quite a bit you will be 
intrested to no. If you are intrested will you please 
try to be at the sea wall in the park where you usully 
135 


THE CRIMSON PATCH 


like to sit about nine this a m an we can talk it over, 
will wate for you their. 

Yours respeckfully, 

C. J. 

“Bless that kind boy’s heart!” thought Pa- 
tricia. “He certainly is a trump! I don’t 
know what on earth I ’d being doing now if it 
were n’t for his help. I ’ll be there without 
fail.” 

Promptly at nine she was at the tryst by the 
sea-wall, a bench shaded by an overhanging 
tree where she frequently came with her book 
or sewing to enjoy the beautiful view out over 
the water and the invigorating salt air. Chet 
was there before her, sitting unostentatiously 
with his legs hanging over the sea-wall, ap- 
parently absorbed in the occupation of fish- 
ing with a rod and reel. 

“Hullo! Good morning!” he greeted her, 
with his usual infectious grin. “Catch any 
Hun spies lurkin’ around last night?” 

“No indeed!” she answered him quite gaily. 
“I did n’t see one — not a single one.” 

136 


AN ADVENTUROUS MISSION 


‘‘Well, I had better luck than you, then!” 
he replied, looking about cautiously to see that 
no one was approaching along the foot-path. 

“Oh, Chester! How? What do you 
mean?” 

“Well, what do you think of this? Last 
night, after I left the hotel, I went right home 
an’ got out my motor-cycle and made a bee- 
line for Hanford. I somehow figured that 
we ’d better find out that queer dope about 
Hanford first of all. I had n’t a ghost of an 
idea where in the place that house might be, 
but I told you before that there weren’t so 
many houses there, anyhow, an’ I just figured 
I could mosey around an’ take a squint at ’em 
all an’ try to figure out which was the most 
likely. 

“It ’s a lonesome kind of a place, ’cause 
there ain’t no railroad nor even a trolley-line 
runnin’ near it. I did n’t want to go chuggin’ 
through it on my cycle, waking the dead with 
the racket, so I hid it in a little clump of woods 
137 


THE CRIMSON PATCH 

just outside the place an’ went huntin’ round 
on foot. First I went through the main street, 
an’ every house an’ store was shut up as tight 
an’ dark as a graveyard. Nothin’ doin’ there. 
Then I gave all the rest of the houses the once- 
over. N o better luck ! 

“The only place left was one way out on the 
road toward Crampton. It ’s a lonesome kind 
of a hole, old farm-house with queer, dinky, 
green wooden shutters all in a piece an’ a 
slantin’ roof goin’ almost down to the ground 
at the back. It used to be all sort of tumblin’ 
to pieces an’ deserted, but a man around here 
bought it an’ fixed it all up modern inside an’ 
painted it, an’ rents it out in the summer to 
city folks for a few months. I did n’t rightly 
know whether it was occupied this season or 
not, ’cause I ain’t been that way lately, but I 
thinks to myself, I ’ll go past it an’ see, before 
I give up the himt. 

“Sure enough, the place was lit up on the 
ground floor an’ one room upstairs too. But 
138 


AN ADVENTUROUS MISSION 


the shades were all drawn down tight. So I 
just sneaked around quiet an’ hid in the bushes 
near the front door an’ one of the windows, an’ 
lay low to see if anything .would happen. I 
didn’t want to stay too long, either, ’cause I 
wanted to get back an’ give you the signal I 
was on the job. Well, nothin’ did happen for 
so long I was just goin’ to give it up, when all 
of a sudden the front door opened an’ a woman 
come out an’ stood on the little porch — 

“Oh, who was it?” cried Patricia, in a fever 
of impatience. 

“You can search me!” he replied. “She 
ain’t no one I ever see before. She was a 
queer-lookin’ specimen, dressed like a maid in 
a black dress an’ white cap an’ apron. I could 
see her quite well, ’cause the light was shinin’ 
out from the hall behind her. She was tall an’ 
bony and sort of grouchy-lookin’. Well, she 
sat down on one of the little side-benches on 
the porch to get the air, I guess, ’cause it was 
pipin’ hot. An’ all of a sudden some one else 
139 


THE CRIMSON PATCH 


slipped out of the door very quiet an’ sat down 
on the bench opposite. An’ I bet you can’t 
guess who that was.” 

‘‘Oh, who?'' breathed Patricia. 

"'The little mam'selle!" 

“Chester, you are a trump!” cried Patricia, 
springing up excitedly. “What did you do?” 

“Why, I did n’t do nothin’ but lay low, of 
course. I sure would have spilled the beans if 
I ’d jumped out an’ hollered who I was, then. 
I just stayed and listened to what went on. 
The grouchy maid said: ‘You better go in. 
The madame will not like it.’ An’ the little un’ 
said: ‘Oh, Melanie, let me stay just a few 
moments! It is so hot in my room. I need 
the air.’ Then the grouchy maid grunted 
something that sounded like French. I 
could n’t get on to it at all. They did n’t say 
no more, but sat a while, an’ bimeby both got 
up an’ went in. An’ soon after all the lights 
went out in the place, an’ I knew it was n’t no 
use to stay longer, so I beat it back here.” 

140 



“Oh, Melanie, let me stay just a few moments!” 







AN ADVENTUROUS MISSION 


“Chester,” exelaimed Patricia, at the end of 
this recital, “what are we going to do?” 

“Well, I got a plan,” he acknowledged. “I 
don’t know whether you ’ll stand for it or not, 
but here it is, anyway. An’ I can promise you 
that if you go in for it, you won’t come to a bit 
of harm. It ain’t possible, the way I got it 
fixed, an’ we may do a whole lot of good, at 
least as far as the little mam’selle is concerned, 
an’ maybe something about this here Crimson 
Patch beside. Here ’s my scheme : 

“I got an older brother who owns a second- 
hand auto an’ runs it like a jitney. That ’s 
his business. But sometimes he takes a day off 
when I do an’ we go fishin’ together or some- 
thin’. He ’s off to-day, same as me. An’ you 
can trust him just the same as me. He ain’t 
a born detective like I am, but he ’s honest as 
honest an’ he knows how to hold his tongue an’ 
ask no questions. So I ain’t explainin’ every- 
thing to him. 

“Now I figure that it ain’t healthy for you 
141 


THE CRIMSON PATCH 

to stay all day alone around that hotel if there ’s 
anything in this ‘danger’ business. Not that 
you would n’t be safe enough if you sit tight, 
but you can’t tell what complicatin’ thing might 
come up, an’ you ain’t got a soul around to ad- 
vise you, not even me. Now suppose you come 
out to Hanford with me an’ Ted in the auto, 
an’ we ’ll hang around an’ lie low an’ see if we 
can get hold of the little mam’selle somehow 
an’ find out what this here mess is all about, 
anyhow. There can’t any harm possibly come 
to us, ’cause Ted ’s goin’ to keep out of things 
an’ just lie low in the auto in that patch of 
woods back of the house an’ I got a police- 
whistle in my pocket, an’ if anything goes 
wrong I ’ll blow it like mad an’ he ’ll beat it 
back to the city an’ have the police out in ten 
minutes. Are you game?” 

F or one uncertain moment Patricia wavered. 
Was it right for her to engage in this hare- 
brained escapade? What would her father 
say? Or Mrs. Quale? Then the thought of 


AN ADVENTUROUS MISSION 


Virginie in danger, the possibility of locating 
the Crimson Patch, and the sheer adventure of 
the thing overcame all her scruples. 

“Yes, I ’ll go, Chester. I trust you abso- 
lutely, and I ’m sure you will not let me come 
to harm. But suppose Father should call me 
up at the hotel? What will he think if they say 
I ’m away?” 

“He ’ll think you ’re out somewhere with 
Mrs. Quale probably, won’t he?” answered 
Chet. “And I ’m almost certain he won’t call 
you up till evening, probably, because you 
might be out an’ he ’d only be wasting time 
an’ money.” 

But another thought had suddenly occurred 
to Patricia, who, truth to tell, did not feel at 
all easy about this expedition, nor about what 
her father would think of it. A solution of one 
side of its difficulties had all at once leaped into 
her mind. 

“How would it do, Chester, if we take Mrs. 
Quale ’s Delia along with us?” 

143 


THE CRIMSON PATCH 


exclaimed Chet, in such obvious 
dismay that Patricia could not resist a laugh at 
his expense. “Gee whiz! you’d block the 
whole game with that white elephant on our 
hands!” 

'“Now, be sensible, Chester!” she urged. 
“It ’s perfectly plain to me that I ’ve either got 
to take her, or else not go myself. Otherwise 
Father would not allow it. We can have her 
with us, and yet not tell her all about our plans. 
You know, Mrs. Quale won’t be back until 
evening, so Delia has n’t a blessed thing to do 
to-day. I ’ll ask her if she ’d like to go off 
on a little picnic with me this morning a ways 
out of town where we may pick up Virginie. 
She ’ll be delighted to have the outing^^ that I 
know!” 

The explanation cleared the air for Chet. 
“All right, I ’m game if you are!” he declared. 
“If you go back and get her and bring her over 
here, I ’ll be round with Ted and the jit in next 
to no time.” 


144 


AN ADVENTUROUS MISSION 


Twenty minutes later he appeared in a bat- 
tered jitney, sitting on the front seat with a 
sheepish-looking, red-haired young fellow, who 
bowed and grinned inarticulately as Chet in- 
troduced him as his brother Ted. Patricia, ac- 
companied by an obviously delighted Delia and 
a well-filled lunch basket, clambered into the 
rear seat, and in another instant they were off 
on their adventurous mission. 


145 


CHAPTER XII 


THE HOUSE WITH THE GREEN SHUTTERS 

I T was a short and breathless ride out to Han- 
ford, through a part of the country quite 
unfamiliar to Patricia, as it was off the regular 
trolley and railroad lines. They passed 
through the little town at a breakneck speed, 
purposely, as Chet explained. It was such a 
tiny place and so out of the world that every 
passing vehicle was apt to be an object of in- 
terest to the inhabitants and he didn’t want 
their car to be specially noticed and commented 
upon. Twice Delia protested strongly against 
the pace, but Patricia pretended not to hear 
her, and they sped on. 

Outside the town limits they slowed down 
and proceeded at a more leisurely pace, and 
presently turned into a rough little apology for 
146 


THE GREEN SHUTTERS 


a road leading through the woods. Under a 
dense mass of overhanging boughs they 
stopped, securely screened from the road. 

“Now here ’s where we begin the great Sher- 
lock Holmes act!” announced Chet, gaily. 
“The house is just beyond the edge of the 
woods. You sit here tight, Ted, an’ don’t you 
budge unless you hear this whistle or see us 
come runnin’ back. Then you have the engine 
ready to beat it like blazes. You understand, 
don’t you?” 

Ted, still inarticulate, nodded vigorously. 

“Now, come along, miss, if you ’re ready,” 
went on Chet, “an’ we ’ll scout around the edge 
of the woods nearest to the house for a spell 
an’ see what ’s doin’.” 

Leaving Delia in the car, somewhat mysti- 
fied, but still unquestioningly happy, Patricia, 
with pounding heart, followed his lead and, 
Indian file, they plowed their way through the 
deep underbrush and tangled vines till they 
stood at the edge of the clearing, protected 
147 


THE CRIMSON PATCH 


from sight only by some overhanging boughs. 
Beyond them stretched the expanse of a couple 
of hundred feet of grass. It had once, doubt- 
less, been only a rough meadow, but was now 
converted into a smooth, well-kept lawn run- 
ning to the very steps of the porch where Chet 
had hidden the night before. The house was 
of the old-fashioned “salt-box” type, with long, 
sloping roof running to within a few feet of 
the ground at the back. It had been renovated 
and painted, with the addition of a wide, 
screened veranda on one side. But its distinc- 
tive feature was the shutters, doubtless the old 
original ones, of solid wood with little cres- 
cents cut in them near the top, and painted a 
bright green. 

There was no one about, not a sign of a liv- 
ing creature, though all the windows were open, 
their pretty draperies swaying in the morning 
breeze. 

“What had we better do?” questioned Pa- 
148 


THE GREEN SHUTTERS 


tricia. “We mustn’t go any nearer the 
house.” 

“No, we must sit tight right here and watch 
what goes on for a while,” agreed Chet. 
“What I ’m trying to do is to see, by who goes 
in or out of the place, whose around, an’ what 
chance we have of passin’ the glad word to the 
little mam’selle.” 

They sat in almost absolute silence for nearly 
half an hour and nothing happened at all. No 
one went either in or out, no face appeared at a 
window, nor door was opened or shut. 

“I believe it ’s deserted,” whispered Patricia, 
impatiently. “I ’m sure they ’ve all gone 
away.” 

“Don’t you believe it!” retorted Chet. 
“They ain’t such geese as to all go off an’ leave 
the house open like that. But if somethin’ 
don’t happen purty quick, I ’m goin’ to beat it 
around to the back an’ see the lay of the land 
there.” 


149 


THE CRIMSON PATCH 


Something, however, did happen, and very 
shortly after. A man in a chauffeur’s outfit 
appeared from somewhere at the back of the 
house and went over to a small garage, barely 
visible from where they stood hidden. Five 
minutes later there was the sound of a motor 
starting, and an automobile shot around the 
curve of the drive and came to a halt before 
the door. Almost at once the door opened, a 
beautifully gowned woman came out, stepped 
into the motor, and was driven rapidly away. 

Patricia clutched Chet’s arm spasmodically. 
“It was Madame Vanderpoel!” she whispered. 
“Oh, it made me shudder just to look at her 
again. And I used to like her, too. But now 
there ’s something awful about her!” 

But Chet was interested in something quite 
different. 

“Hooray!” he exclaimed in an undertone. 
“If she ’s flew the coop, we got a fightin’ chance 
anyway. Now, I may be wrong, but from 
what I seen last night an’ the lay of the land 
150 


THE GREEN SHUTTERS 


to-day, I figure there ’s only that grouchy maid 
an’ the little ’un left in the house. Let ’s wait 
a while longer an’ see if we see anybody else.” 

They waited in another long silence. Then 
Patricia’s heart almost stopped beating. The 
front door opened and Virginie de Vos stepped 
out, looked about her half cautiously, half 
languidly, and started to cross the lawn in the 
very direction where they were hidden. She 
had a book in her hand, and Patricia suspected 
that her intention was to sit and read in the 
cool shade of the woods. 

‘'Oh, it could n’t have happened better, could 
it?” she whispered ecstatically to Chet. “I ’ve 
been fairly praying for something like this ever 
since we ’ve been here.” 

“Fine!” replied Chet, in ill-suppressed ex- 
citement. “Now, looka here. I ain’t goin’ to 
complicate things between you an’ her by 
bangin’ around while you have your talk. 
I ’m just goin’ to disappear in the woods back 
here a ways, but I ’ll be right within call, an’ 
151 


THE CRIMSON PATCH 


when you want me, you can get me. An’ 
p’raps I ’d better go an’ entertain Delia a 
while, or she ’ll be wantin’ to quit this picnic. 
See?” 

Patricia nodded, mutely gratefuT for his tact, 
but her gaze was fastened on the girl, ap- 
proaching so slowly and lifelessly across the 
lawn. Chet melted away into the leafy growth 
behind her, and she herself drew back a little 
farther into the woods, so that the meeting 
might not take place too close to the house. 
In another moment she and Virginie stood 
suddenly face to face. 

Patricia sprang forward with a little cry of 
joy. For a moment an answering gleam 
leaped into Virginie’s eyes. Then, to Patri- 
cia’s unbounded astonishment, the girl shrank 
back, her eyes wide and terror-stricken, her 
hands outspread before her as if to push her 
friend far from her sight. 

‘‘Why, Virginie!” cried P^itricia. “What is 
15^ 


THE GREEN SHUTTERS 


the trouble? Have I frightened you so? 
Are n’t you glad to see me?” 

“Yes, — oh, no, no! You must not come. I 
will not talk to you. I cannot! I cannot!” 

Patricia was amazed at her incoherent dis- 
tress, and could make nothing out of the con- 
tradictory statements she uttered. 

“But I thought you would be glad to see me, 
Virginie. I was so delighted to find out where 
you were. And you are in trouble too, or 
danger, or are worried about something. 
Won’t you tell me about it? I came all this 
way to find out how you were and what I can 
do to help you.” 

“You can do nothing,” the girl answered 
dully. “Go back and never think of me or try 
to see me again. It is the only safe thing for 
you.” 

“But I do not understand!” cried Patricia, 
in despair. “What can you mean, Virginie? 
Did n’t you call me up last night and warn me 
153 


THE CRIMSON PATCH 


of danger and say you too were in danger, but 
you did n’t have time to finish, or were cut off, 
or something. I was so worried about you and 
— ^and I — found out where you were, and have 
come to find out all about it.” 

‘T tried to warn you not to come,” Virginie 
answered, “but I — but I — did not get a chance 
to finish. I — I could not make you under- 
stand. When I said I was in danger I — I 
only — meant in danger of being overheard.” 

“But, Virginie,” cried Patricia, in utter be- 
wilderment, “what do you mean by ‘warning 
me not to come’ ? How could you think I was 
coming, when I did n’t even know where you 
were? It was only by an — an accident that I 
found out where you were — later.” 

The girl stared at her fixedly, a sudden light 
dawning in her face. 

“But, tell me, how did you come?” she whis- 
pered excitedly. “Was it not with — ^with 
Madame Vanderpoel?” 

''With Madame V anderpoel? Indeed not !” 

154 


THE GREEN SHUTTERS 

exclaimed Patricia, and to her utter discom- 
fiture, Virginie murmured a faint, ‘T am so 
glad!” and dropped in a huddled heap on the 
ground, hiding her face in her hands. 

“But why should you think I came with 
Madame Vanderpoel?” questioned Patricia, de- 
termined to get to the bottom of this mystery. 
“I have neither seen her nor heard from her 
since she left the hotel.” 

“She — she has gone to the city to — to call 
for you,” murmured Virginie, her face still 
buried in her hands. “She was going to urge 
you to come out to see me, saying I was quite 
ill and wished it. She was going to put the 
matter very urgently. Oh, I prayed that you 
would not come! And when I saw you, I 
thought you had come with her, and — and — ” 
She stopped with a shuddering sob. 

“Virginie,” said Patricia, in a very firm, 
quiet voice, “won’t you please explain all this 
to me? What is it Madame Vanderpoel 
wished of me? Why was she trying to get me 
155 


THE CRIMSON PATCH 


here? And what have you to do with it all?” 

The girl crouching on the ground looked up 
at her suddenly. 

“Do you remember,” she murmured, “that 
once you promised to — to love and — and trust 
me, no matter what happened, in spite of all — 
all appearances that — that seemed against me ? 
Can you keep that promise — in spite of — of 
everything?” She looked so appealingly at 
her friend that Patricia went down on her 
knees beside the crouching girl and put both 
arms about her. 

“I never yet failed to keep a promise, Vir- 
ginie dear. Believe me, I love you and trust 
you just as much as ever, and always will. I 
think there is some terrible secret that is making 
you act very differently from what you would 
under ordinary circumstances. I won’t ask 
you what it is, but if you ever want to tell me, 
you can be sure it will be safe with me.” 

The gentle words acted hke magic on the 
crushed, unhappy girl. She sat up suddenly, 
156 


THE GREEN SHUTTERS 


as if inspired by some strong determination, 
put both hands in Patricia’s, and looked her 
straight in the eyes. 

“You are a darling! You are better to me, 
more kind, than I ever hoped or dreamed. I 
am going to tell you all — all I know, though I 
do not dare to think what would happen to me 
if they suspected it.” 

“Who are ‘they’?” questioned Patricia. 

“The Bodies — the German spies!” answered 
Virginie, in a hushed tone. “That is a house 
full of them. Did you not know it?” 

Patricia started back in real horror. This, 
then, was the confirmation of her very worst 
fears. 

“But you — ” she stammered. “Surely you 
are not one of them? You said you were a 
Belgian.” 

Virginie nodded lifelessly. “I am truly a 
Belgian — but I am their helpless tool.” 

“But your aunt?” cried Patricia, still uncon- 
vinced. “Surely Madame Vanderpoel is a 
15T 


THE CRIMSON PATCH 


Belgian too. Why does she not protect you? 
Is she, too, in their power?” 

Virginie shuddered. ‘‘Madame Vanderpoel 
is no Belgian. She is a German by birth — 
and at heart. She married my mother’s 
brother, — he is now dead, — and she lived for 
many years in our country and was to all out- 
ward appearance a Belgian. But she has been 
secretly, all these years, in the service of the 
German spy system. I never dreamed of such 
a thing myself, nor did my father, till she had 
brought me away to England and America and 
had me completely in her power.” 

A great light suddenly dawned on Patricia. 
Here was the explanation of many curious in- 
cidents that had happened at the hotel. But 
bewilderment on some points still possessed her. 

“Madame Vanderpoel seemed very kind to 
you though, Virginie?” she ventured. “And 
you treated her rather abominably at times, if 
I must say so. Yet she never reproached you 
or said anything unpleasant.”' 

158 


THE GREEN SHUTTERS 

“She was very kind to me in public — yes. 
But what she did and said to me in private, I 
would wish never to tell you.’’ 

“Well, but, Virginie, there is one thing I 
still cannot seem to understand!” cried Patricia. 
“You say that Madame Vanderpoel has you 
completely in her power. That seems unthink- 
able to me, especially here in free America. 
What is to prevent you from running away 
from her, from giving yourself up to the proper 
authorities, from informing them about her and 
having her and all the rest of them put in 
prison? You surely have had plenty of oppor- 
tunity to do that. Has it never occurred to 
you?” 

Virginie seemed fairly to shrink into herself 
at this suggestion. “Oh, you do not under- 
stand !” she moaned. “There is something else, 
something more terrible than you have any idea 
of. Gladly, only too gladly would I do as you 
suggest. Indeed, I would have done it long 
ago. I would have done it even had it meant 
159 


THE CRIMSON PATCH 


my own death. But the safety of one I love 
depends wholly on my complete obedience to 
her — to them.’’ 

“What — oh, what do you mean?^’ breathed 
Patricia, a partial light breaking in on her be- 
wilderment. 

''My father ! — they have him, too, in their 
power, ‘over there’ 1 He was captured by them 
after the siege of Antwerp, and is now in a 
German prison. Can you not see now where 
they have complete control over me? I must 
do their will without hesitation, or my father’s 
life will be forfeited. The first act of dis- 
obedience, of rebellion on my part, and his life 
is ended by a secret code message sent by them 
through Switzerland. And so you see, my 
friend, that my life is a daily torture.” 

She said no more. Patricia sat petrified by 
this hideous revelation. No tale of horror that 
she had heard from her father could exceed the 
exquisite cruelty of the torment and misery 
meted out to this lovely, helpless girl, forced 
160 


THE GREEN SHUTTERS 


against her will, her patriotism, and her affec- 
tions to act as their tool in order to save the life 
of her father! Patricia understood it all now 
— all the strange conduct that had so puzzled 
her in their days together at the hotel. How 
torn between her love, her sense of right, and 
her fears this poor girl must have been — ^must 
be now! And a great thankfulness filled her 
that she had been moved to assure Virginie of 
her love and trust, in spite of all appearances, 
before she had known the whole truth. 

But there seemed to be no words in which 
she could express her horror of what she had 
heard. So she only kept both arms about her 
friend, and in this close contact they sat to- 
gether, Virginie clearly grateful for the un- 
spoken sympathy. At length Patricia broke 
the silence. 

“Have they — have they made you do many 
things you — hated?” she asked hesitatingly. 
“I do not quite understand how they could 
use you — ” 


161 


THE CRIMSON PATCH 


“They have spent, as they say, a long time 
‘training me’ ” said Virginie. ‘T was to pose 
before people as just what I am, a Belgian 
refugee, and arouse sympathy, and get into 
their confidence, and then — ” she shuddered 
again, “draw from them any secrets of interest 
to the German government, or — or perhaps 
take from them any secret papers of impor- 
tance, if I could manage it, or — or that kind of 
thing. They thought at first that I should be 
very successful, very helpful to them, but I fear 
I have not — that is, I do not fear it, I am glad 
of it — only I know that I risk my father’s life 
with every act of resistance. 

“Twice I have failed them. Once, in Eng- 
land, in a hotel there, they arranged that I 
should become acquainted with the wife of a 
prominent British general at the front. She 
took a great fancy to me and had me with her 
very often. They knew that she had papers of 
her husband’s of great importance in her pos- 
session, and I was to obtain them somehow. 

162 


THE GREEN SHUTTERS 

But I could not do it — if for no other reason 
that she had been so kind to me; and soon she 
went away to do Red Cross work at the front, 
so I never had another chance. I was thankful 
from my heart, but oh, they were very, very 
angry! I thought they would surely fulfil 
their threat and take my father’s life, but they 
gave me another chance. 

“When your country declared war, we came 
over here and stayed for a time in a big hotel in 
Washington. There, a second time, I was 
made to form the acquaintance of an American 
diplomat and his wife who were staying at the 
same place. They were very sorry for me and 
interested in me because I was a Belgian 
refugee, and invited me often to their rooms. 
I did not care for them, as I had for the Eng- 
lish lady, but they, too, were kind and good to 
me. Madame Vanderpoel had ordered me, on 
a certain day when I had been visiting in the 
lady’s room and she had left me alone for a 
time, to go through her writing-desk and hunt 
163 


THE CRIMSON PATCH 


for one particular document. And again I 
failed them. I could not do this horrible thing 
when it came to the moment, and I pretended 
to be very ill and obliged to return at once to 
my room. That night the diplomat and his 
wife removed to the house of a friend, where 
they were to visit for an indefinite time. 

“The wrath of these terrible people against 
me knew no bounds. And I thought for a time 
that nothing could save my father. But they 
decided to give me one more chance — and that 
chance was your 

Patricia started in spite of herself. “But 
how — how do they know there is anything — 
about me of — of interest to them?” 

“They know everything,” declared Virginie, 
apathetically accepting what was to her a com- 
mon, every-day fact. “Yes, they know every- 
thing. Though how they find it out, I cannot 
imagine. They seem to have a million eyes 
and ears watching and listening for them, in 
every country. They know that your father 
164 


THE GREEN SHUTTERS 


has a very important secret mission. Whether 
they know just what it is, I have not been able 
to tell. But they know that it is vital to under- 
stand that mission, to stop his work if possible. 
They wish to obtain a secret paper he has, at 
any cost. They knew you were both to come 
to the hotel. We ourselves came there the day 
before. We changed our room once, so as to 
be nearer to you. 

“Then I received my instructions. I was to 
form an acquaintance with you — somehow. 
It should be easy, since we were about of an 
age. I was to be with you frequently, con- 
stantly. I was to discover if you were in your 
father’s confidence. I was to locate that secret 
paper, and I was to obtain possession of it when 
the time seemed ripe. It was to be my last 
chance. If I failed — well, you can imagine the 
rest. 

“I liked you from the first — ^yes, I loved you. 
On that first night when you caught me spying 
on you from the door across the hall and were 
165 


THE CRIMSON PATCH 


so sweet and charming to me, I loved you. 
And that love made all the harder what I had 
to do. I determined that I would not get ac- 
quainted with you; I would pretend that you 
did not wish or encourage it. But my delay 
only angered Madame Vanderpoel. She took 
matters in her own hands on that morning when 
she told you I was ill with a headache, and 
forced the friendship on me in spite of myself. 
You know that I was not ill, nor did she have to 
go to New York. She merely went out and 
stayed out all day to give us a chance to get 
acquainted. 

“Well, you know the rest of that history — 
how strangely I acted at times, how — how 
abominable I was to you. I do not yet under- 
stand how you could have been so sweet and 
forgiving. But the more you were, the more 
I hated what I had to do and delayed about it. 
And the longer I delayed, the more angry 
Madame Vanderpoel grew with me. Of one 
thing I was glad. I could discover nothing 
166 


THE GREEN SHUTTERS 


about any secret paper, and Jhey were begin- 
ning to doubt whether your father really had it 
with him or whether it was concealed elsewhere. 

“At any rate, much to my surprise, after that 
last night I spent with you, Madame informed 
m^e next morning very early that we were leav- 
ing the hotel to come here. She did not offer 
any explanation at the time, but I know now 
that it was because they had obtained the secret 
paper at last, I know not how, and there was 
no need to stay longer at the hotel. I tried so 
hard to get some word to you in spite of her. I 
had just whispered part of the message to the 
bell-boy when she interrupted and I got no 
other chance. 

“But though I never expected to see you 
again, I rejoiced that the terrible necessity for 
constantly deceiving you was over at last. I 
could at least love you always and feel that I 
need no longer wrong you. But it was not to 
be. Last night I overheard them talking be- 
low, and it seems that though they had obtained 
167 


THE CRIMSON PATCH 

what they believed to be the secret paper, they 
could make nothing of it at all, and so they 
were as much in the dark as ever. They talked 
and wrangled over it much, and at length 
Madame herself proposed a plan. She knew 
that your father had missed the paper and also 
that he was in New York searching for it on a 
false clue that they themselves had arranged. 
But she imagined that she had so well covered 
her tracks that neither you nor he connected us 
with any share in the matter. So she planned 
to go in to the city, call at your hotel, and try 
to induce you to come out here with her in the 
car to visit me for a few hours, telling you a 
sad tale of how I had been taken ill again and 
wished to see you. But while you were here, 
she was going to threaten you suddenly with 
dreadful things, both to yourself and your 
father, if you did not tell her the secret of the 
paper. And after she had frightened you 
into telling (as she was sure she could), she 
168 


THE GREEN SHUTTERS 


was to have you driven away in the car and left 
in some distant and unknown locality, and by 
the time you had at last returned to the hotel, 
we would all have disappeared and could not be 
traced.” 

“But I do not know the secret of it!” cried 
Patricia. Virginie only shrugged her shoul- 
ders with a foreign gesture. 

“So much the worse for Madame, then,” she 
went on. “She knew she was taking that 
chance. But she felt almost certain you were 
in your father’s confidence. If you did not 
know, then the same program would be carried 
out. But first, before she questioned you, she 
wished me to try and draw the secret from you. 
If I were successful, it would be so much 
simpler for her. She summoned me to her this 
morning and instructed me in the part I was to 
play. And that is why I shuddered so when I 
saw you. I thought she had been successful in 
her ruse to get you here. I had tried so hard 
169 


THE CRIMSON PATCH 


to prevent it. Last night I called you on the 
upstairs telephone, softly, so they might not 
hear, for they were still wrangling down below. 
But I could not finish. Melanie was coming 
up the stairs. I had to ring off. Now you 
know it all.” 

She ceased speaking and sat staring into her 
lap, her hands clasped so tightly that the 
knuckles showed white. Patricia also sat in 
stunned silence. Now that the whole terrible 
plot had been revealed to her, it all seemed so 
infinitely worse than anything she had im- 
agined that she could scarcely collect her senses. 
Two things stood out in her mind with distinct- 
ness: the Crimson Patch was concealed some- 
where in that house — she must get hold of it at 
all cost — it was vital to her father’s, yes, even 
to the whole country’s interests; and Virginie 
must be snatched somehow from the clutches of 
these terrible enemies who were using her 
against her will for their own ends. But how 
was it to be accomplished? 

170 


THE GREEN SHUTTERS 


At that moment, Chet Jackson’s head ap- 
peared suddenly over the bushes. 

“If you ’ll excuse me, ladies, for mentionin’ 
it,” he whispered, “something ’s got to be done 
pretty quick. I figure the Madame ’ll be 
gettin’ back any minute now.” 


CHAPTER XIII 


VIRGINIE DECIDES 


IRGINIE looked up in quick alarm. 



V “Who is that-?” she cried, in a low voice, 
and then, recognizing the bell-boy she had seen 
so often at the hotel, she gazed at Patricia in 
amazed surprise. “How did you get here?” 
she suddenly asked her friend. So absorbed 
had she been in other matters, that the question 
had not occurred to her before. Patricia 
sketched to her in hurried whispers the history 
of the previous night and the assistance ren- 
dered by Chet, while the boy himself stood by 
uneasily, watching the house and the road. 
When she had finished, he added : 

“I gotta tell you that I heard a good deal of 
what the little mam’selle was sayin’ just now, 
’cause I had crept back to warn you folks you ’d 
have to be a bit quicker if we ’re goin’ to get 


172 


VIRGINIE DECIDES 


anything done, so I pretty well know the lay of 
the land. Now I got a plan in the back of my 
head. It ’s kind of risky, but I think we can 
swing it if we work quick. But first we must 
find out what this here little mam’selle is 
plannin’ to do. Are you goin’ to get her to 
break away from that shady gang an’ beat it 
with us?” 

‘‘Oh, that ’s just what I want her to do — just 
what I ’ve been thinking of myself!” cried Pa- 
tricia. “Are you willing, Virginie dear?” 

The girl looked at her in some bewilderment. 
American slang was something she had yet to 
become acquainted with, and Chet’s last re- 
marks were as incomprehensible to her as if 
they had been uttered in Choctaw. 

“We want you to come with us,” Patricia 
explained. “You must not stay any longer 
with these dreadful people, Virginie. We 
think we can get you away from them, and you 
will have a happy life and never, never be tor- 
mented by them again.” 

17S 


THE CRIMSON PATCH 


But the girl shrank back in terror. ‘‘No, 
no!” she cried. “It must not be. I cannot do 
it, much as I long to. You must not ask it. 
My father r whispered Virginie, brokenly, and 
she needed to say no more. Patricia under- 
stood. She had forgotten for a moment how 
deeply they held this helpless girl in their 
^ power. And after the many terrible tales she 
had heard of the enemy’s cruelty, she had not 
the slightest doubt that they would carry out 
their threat. What could she say or do that 
would be of any avail in the face of this? She 
looked at Chet helplessly. 

“Say,” he declared at length, “this here ’s 
sure a bad lookout, but there must be some way 
out of it. You can’t make me believe that in 
this here free country any bunch of Huns is 
goin’ to get away with a come-on game like 
that. Why say, what ’s the matter with this? 
We ’ll bundle the little mam’selle into the car 
an’ hustle back to the city an’ get the police out 
here in a jiff’ an’ raid the whole place before 
174 


VIRGINIE DECIDES 

they have time to turn around. We ’d sure 
find that Crimson Patch somewhere in the 
ranch. An’ they ’d have the bunch all in the 
jug before they had time to do any telephonin’ 
or send any messages or anything. What 
say?” 

“No, no!” cried Virginie, who had somehow 
taken in his meaning in spite of his slang. “It 
would not do. You do not understand. They 
are not all here — in this house. Only Madame 
— and Melanie, her maid, and the chauffeur, 
Hermann Klausser (they call him Jacques 
Thierrot in public) are here. But there are 
many, many others in New York — everywhere. 
They are all in these plots. They would find 
out what had happened, and they would send 
the message. I am not safe though you were 
to shut up a dozen of them in jail at once. Do 
you not see?” 

They did see. Chet scratched his head in 
perplexed thought and Patricia stared at them 
both helplessly. It seemed an almost impos- 
175 


THE CRIMSON PATCH 


sible tangle. It was Chet who presently 
shrugged his shoulders and addressed them in 
words of firmness and determination, thus : 

“Say, this here does certainly seem some little 
puzzle, but you want to think ahead of things a 
bit, an’ reason out how things are likely to go 
on if they keep runnin’ in the same groove. 
Have you thought of this, miss — er — mam’- 
selle? If you keep on like this, just knucklin’ 
down to ’em all the time, are things ever goin’ 
to get any better? Ain’t they goin’ to force 
you to do worse an’ worse all the time just as 
long as they can keep you under? That ’s the 
Hun of it. They believe in terrorizing, they 
do! They think they got you cold as long as 
they can scare the livin’ wits out of you. An’ 
that ’s w^here America put it all over ’em. 
They did n’t scare for a cent. All the Yanks 
ever thought of was, ‘Lead me to ’em! Just 
let me get my hands on one of them ’ere Huns. 
1 H give ’em a little dose of “frightfulness.” ’ 
An’ they did, too; an’ the Huns are turnin’ tail 
176 


VIRGINIE DECIDES 


an’ beatin’ it this very minute at Chateau 
Thierry an’ thereabouts. 

“That ’s the spirit to have. Don’t let ’em 
put it over you. An’ another thing maybe you 
have n’t thought of, miss — mam’selle. Do you 
really believe everything they ’re tellin’ you? 
I bet they ’d as soon fool you as eat their din- 
ner! How do you know this is all true about 
your father? He may be well an’ safe this 
very minute — 

“Oh, no, no!” interrupted Virginie. “If 
that were so I would have heard from him in 
some way. I have heard nothing in all these 
three years. No, he is not safe. He is surely 
in their power.” 

“Well, that may be so,” insisted Chet, “but 
still I say, you can’t trust ’em. An’ there ’s 
one thing you can trust an’ it ’s the most power- 
ful thing in the world to-day, an’ that ’s this 
little old U. S. Government. If anything on 
earth can help you, that can, an’ you ’d a great 
sight better put your trust in that than to 
177 


THE CRIMSON PATCH 


knuckle down any longer to this beastly bunch 
of Hun spies. Ain’t I talkin’ sensible, Miss 
Patricia?” 

“Indeed you are!” Patricia echoed enthusi- 
astically. “Why, Chet is right, Virginie, abso- 
lutely. Can’t you see it? I only wonder we 
didn’t think of it before! Your choice lies 
between these horrible, unscrupulous creatures, 
and the finest, most powerful Government in 
all the world. How can you even hesitate? 
You can’t go on forever this way with Madame 
Vanderpoel. Some day they might put an end 
to your father’s life for some reason of their 
own, and you could n’t do a thing to stop it, 
might n’t even know it. You ’d be perfectly 
helpless. Whereas, if you get yourself out of 
their power, you stand some chance, at least, of 
rescuing your father too. Take the chance, 
Virginie. These people are not so powerful as 
they seem to you because you have been so shut 
up with them. They have let you know noth- 
ing. Take the chance. I believe it is your 
178 


VIRGINIE DECIDES 

only chance to help your father and your- 
self!’’ 

And Virginie, very much impressed, visibly 
wavered. She had, indeed, taken no thought 
for the future, hopelessly supposing her bond- 
age would go on indefinitely, as at present, only 
serving to prolong her father’s existence by her 
acquiescence. To her it was, indeed, a terrible 
chance, yet not quite so uncertain as it had once 
seemed. Perhaps the United States was more 
powerful than she realized. Perhaps — but 
suddenly she threw all hesitation to the winds. 

“Yes, yes, you are right!” she exclaimed. 
“I will go with you. Perhaps I can serve him 
best — so.” 

“Hooray ! Good for you !” cried Chet, over- 
joyed. “An’ now about this here Crimson 
Patch. Do you think there ’s any chance of 
our gettin’ hold of it? Where d’ you suppose 
the Madame keeps it salted down?” 

Patricia, too happy for expression at Vir- 
ginie’s decision, could only press her hand 
179 


THE CRIMSON PATCH 


warmly. “Yes, Virginie, we must, if possible, 
get the Crimson Patch. Have you any idea 
where it is?” 

“I saw it in her writing-desk this morning,” 
replied Virginie, “while she was telling me what 
I must do. She was explaining to me how I 
must get you to tell me the secret of it if I 
could, without of course allowing you to think 
it was here. I do not think she put it back in 
the safe. She is so sure of herself that she has 
no fear of its being discovered.” 

“Then it ought to be possible to get it some- 
how or other,” mused Patricia. “Who is this 
maid, Melanie, that you speak of, Virginie, and 
where do you think she is now?” 

“Melanie has been Madame Vanderpoel’s 
servant for many years,” answered the girl. 
“She is the only one among them all who cares 
in the slightest for me. I think she is quite 
fond of me, though she has never said so. She 
is a strange, silent woman.” 

“Is she a German?” questioned Patricia. 

180 


VIRGINIE DECIDES 


“Yes, by birth, but she lived so long in Bel- 
gium that I think she came to feel more Belgian 
than German. I think she secretly hates all 
this spy-work, but she is bound to Madame 
Vanderpoel by many obligations and she dare 
not make a protest. Madame at one time gave 
her a great deal of money to help her family, 
who were in great need, and Melanie is very 
loyal to her. But she has always been fond of 
me ever since I was a baby, and I feel sure that 
she resents at times, the way they treat me. I 
only feel this for she never has said one word. 
I do not think she would dare let them know it. 
She is probably in the kitchen now, for she has 
to get the meals as well as wait on Madame. 
There are no other servants around. Madame 
will not have them, lest they discover too much. 
Hermann Klausser is not a servant. He is 
one of the worst of them, — the spies, — but he 
drives the car and acts to the world as 
Madame’s chauffeur.” 

“Well, if Melanie is in the kitchen and the 
181 


THE CRIMSON PATCH 

rest of them out of the way/’ said Chet, “it 
ought to be a pretty good time to swipe that 
sketch. Do you think you ’d dare go in an’ 
cabbage it, little miss, or shall I try? It would 
be safer an’ quicker for you, if you think you 
don’t mind, because you know where the desk 
is, an’ this here Melanie wouldn’t think it so 
strange to see you goin’ in an’ out. But if you 
don’t care for the job, I ’ll try my hand at it. 
But we got to be quick, whatever we do, ’cause 
the madame may be back any minute. How 
about it?” 

“Oh, I will try it,” assented Virginie. “It 
would be far better for me, since I know its 
location and can go in and out freely.” 

Patricia gave her a hug and murmured, 
“You darling!” and she was just about to set 
forth on her quest, when Chet cried, “Hold 
on!” and laid a detaining hand on her arm. 
The sound of a motor was heard tearing madly 
up the road, and in another moment Madame’s 
car had swung into the driveway. 

18 ^ 


VIRGINIE DECIDES 


‘‘Can you beat that for luck!” snorted Chet. 
And Virginie huddled back against Patricia 
with a little moan of despair. 


18 S 


CHAPTER XIV 


MELANIE 

T he car stopped in front of the door and 
Madame stepped out. She was in rare 
ill-humor, that was plain, and she stood talking 
long with the chauffeur. Then she went into 
the house. The chauffeur sprang into the car 
and drove off at a furious pace in the same 
direction from which they had come. 

The three crouching at the edge of the woods 
watched it all with bitter disappointment and 
alarm. 

“What shall I do?” shuddered Virginie. 
“It is now too late to carry out our plan. It 
can never be done. Oh, I fear that I shall 
never be free from her power.” 

“Now, just cut out all that!” said Chet, 
brusque, but well-meaning. “You could be 
184j 


MELANIE 


quit of her this very minute if we wanted to 
beat it and take to the auto. But what we ’re 
trying to do is to save that there Crimson Patch, 
if possible. Perhaps we can’t do it just the 
way we meant to first, but there certain is some 
way if we can just work it out. How about 
this? Suppose you go back to the house, just 
casual like, an’ see what the fuss is all about. 
We will stay put right here. It ’s perfectly 
safe, an’ we can stay here all the rest of the day 
if necessary. Then, later, perhaps after 
you ’ve had your lunch, you ’ll find some chance 
of gettin’ that sketch an’ wanderin’ off here to 
the woods again, an’ then it will just be heigho, 
an’ beatin’ the speed-limit back to the city for 
us all! How about it?” 

Virginie thought it over carefully. ‘T think 
perhaps that is a good idea. I will tell you 
why. After luncheon Madame always goes to 
her room to rest and sleep. Melanie will be 
busy in the kitchen, and if the chauffeur does 
not come back, it will all be quite safe. I 
185 


THE CRIMSON PATCH 


think he will not come back. I have a feeling 
that he has gone to New York to consult with 
— with the rest of them. But Madame may 
not leave the sketch in her desk. She may lock 
it in her safe, but I will go back, though she is 
terrible when she is angry.” 

“But remember this, always, Virginie,” Pa- 
tricia assured her; “she can do nothing now to 
harm you personally. Things have changed 
since you thought yourself completely in her 
power. We are here, and, if things get too 
bad, call to us, or make some outcry, and you 11 
have help there before you know it. You are 
not alone any more.” 

Thus cheered and comforted, Virginie took 
her book, murmured an inarticulate farewell, 
and stepped into the open. The two who re- 
mained watched her breathlessly as she crossed 
the lawn and ascended the steps of the little 
porch. Then the door closed behind her and 
they heard and saw no more. 

A nerve-racking period of suspense followed. 

186 


MELANIE 


When it was plain that she would not, in all 
probability, reappear for two or three hours, 
Chet suggested that they go back to where the 
others were waiting, lest Delia become anxious 
and try to hunt them up. 

“We might as well as have some lunch, while 
we can,’’ he added. “You can tell her that the 
little mam’selle will join us later, if she asks 
any questions. There ’s no telling how long 
we have to wait, and you ’ll feel better for some 
eats. Ted and I will keep watch. But be 
ready to beat it, any minute, if we give the 
signal.” 

They found Delia happily absorbed in ar- 
ranging the lunch and very little concerned 
about Patricia’s absence and the non-appear- 
ance of the Belgian girl. She had struck up a 
friendship with the inarticulate Ted, and the 
two were busily occupied in transforming the 
rear seat of the jitney into a luncheon table. 

The food restored Patricia’s courage and re- 
vived her hopes, which had begun to wane with 
187 


THE CRIMSON PATCH 


the disappearance of Virginie. When the 
meal was over, she told Delia she was going to 
fetch Virginie. Then she and Chet went back 
to their post and resumed their long vigil. 

Meanwhile, what was happening in the 
house of the green shutters? 

The wrath of Madame at the failure of her 
plan was all that Virginie had expected it 
would be, and the girl had to bear the brunt of 
it when she ventured in at last. Madame had 
called at the hotel and asked for Patricia. She 
was not in and had not been seen since break- 
fast, nor had they, the hotel authorities, any 
information as to her whereabouts. Neither 
did they know when she would be back. 
Madame had waited in the lounge for over an 
hour, but no Patricia had appeared. Then, 
fearing to be seen there any longer, she had 
come away. Where had the little idiot flown 
to, she inquired in a violent temper? Could it 
be possible she had joined her father? All her 
188 


MELANIE 


plans were now upset by this unaccountable 
action of her intended victim. 

Virginie, compelled to listen to it all, and 
fearful of betraying some knowledge of the 
matter, was more uncomfortable than she dared 
to show, and could only sit by with downcast 
eyes and her usual air of terrorized docility. 

“It is your fault 1 I believe it is all your 
fault!” Madame stormed, and Virginie shrank 
back physically as well as mentally, though she 
knew that Madame in no way realized how very 
much “her fault” it actually was and was only 
venting her ill-temper on the nearest object. 

“Well, let us go to luncheon,” Madame at 
length announced when her ill-humor had spent 
itself. “It has been a bad day’s work, but we 
must eat, and afterward I will rest and think 
what to do next.” 

The meal was consumed in utter silence. 
Madame was absorbed with her own thoughts, 
and Virginie was only too thankful for a respite 
from her angry accusations. All during the 
189 


THE CRIMSON PATCH 


hour she was praying, hoping, wondering what 
Madame was going to do about the sketch still 
carelessly lying in the drawer of her writing- 
desk. Would she remember to put it safely 
away before she retired to her room? Every 
mouthful choked the girl, but she made a brave 
pretense of eating. It seemed as if Madame 
would never be done with this dreadful meal, 
the most trying that Virginie had ever endured. 

But the ordeal was over at last. Madame 
rose, pushed aside her chair, and left the room 
without further remark. And Virginie, with 
loudly beating heart, heard her pass through 
the living-room and linger a moment at her 
desk, rustling the papers about. What was 
she doing? Oh, if she only dared to peep in 
and see! But Melanie was silently clearing 
the table, so she passed out to the screened 
veranda beyond, hearing Madame ascending 
the stairs as she did so. And she did not even 
know what had become of the Crimson Patch! 

It seemed as if Melanie would never finish 
190 


MELANIE 


her work in the dining-room. Half an hour 
passed and she was still fussing about, wash- 
ing, as she usually did, all the silver and glass 
in the butler’s pantry, and passing and repass- 
ing in and out on her many errands. Not until 
she retired to the kitchen would Virginie dare 
to begin her investigations. 

But all things come to an end if one waits 
long enough, and Melanie at length made her 
last trip into the dining-room. Virginie heard 
her retreating footsteps in the direction of the 
kitchen with a sigh of unutterable relief. Her 
one terror now was lest Madame might call to 
her to come upstairs and fan her and read aloud 
to her, as she frequently did when the mood 
took her. Besides being an utterly repugnant 
task, it would in this case put an end to every 
thought of escape, according to her pre- 
arranged plan with the two waiting in the 
woods. If she could only get away before that 
happened, all would be well! 

The kitchen door closed at last. Virginie 
191 


THE CRIMSON PATCH 


gathered all her courage and tiptoed through 
the dining-room and on into the living-room 
beyond. Her knees shook so that she could 
scarcely walk, and a mist seemed to float before 
her eyes. She felt sure that her pounding 
heart could be heard by Madame herself in the 
room above. 

The desk stood in a big bay window, and was 
closed, but not locked. Virginie pulled open 
the drawer, which gave with a resisting squeak, 
so loud that her very heart stood still at the 
appalling sound. She stood motionless for 
what seemed an hour, but nothing happened 
and she gradually came to the conclusion that 
the sound must have passed unnoticed. Then 
she bent to look at the contents of the drawer. 

The Crimson Patch was not there ! At least, 
it was nowhere to be seen on the top. But the 
drawer was in some confusion, for Madame was 
by no means a methodical person. Virginie 
ventured to put in her hand and push the 
papers about. Could it be? — yes, it must be, 
192 


MELANIE 


that Madame had taken the sketch away, for it 
was nowhere to be found. Virginie could have 
wept as she stood there, with the terrible dis- 
appointment of it all. 

But suddenly her heart gave a leap, for her 
searching fingers had come in contact with 
something that felt familiar, far down at the 
bottom of the drawer. It was the heavy water- 
color paper that she remembered so well. 
Madame, indolent with the desire for her after- 
noon sleep and reluctant at the moment to go 
to the trouble of locking away her treasure, had 
carelessly tucked it away in a far corner of the 
drawer under a mass of bills and other papers. 
With a great sigh of joy, Virginie drew out 
the Crimson Patch. 

An instant after she had done so, a slight 
sound behind her caused her to whirl about in 
sudden alarm. 

Melanie stood in the doorway between the 
portieres, surveying her with stern surprise. 


193 


CHAPTER XV 

OUT OF THE NET 

S HEER terror at her awful position froze 
Virginie to an immovable statue for a mo- 
ment. It seemed almost unbelievable, like the 
situation in some terrible dream. Could it 
actually be true? She knew not what to say, 
what to think, what to do. Her brain abso- 
lutely refused to work, her body to move. 

It was Melanie herself who broke the spell. 
“What are you doing here?” she whispered. 
The sound of her voice released Virginie from 
the nightmare of immovable terror. A sudden 
determination was born in her, a wild impulse 
to throw herself entirely on the mercy of this 
strange, silent woman whose sympathy she had 
sometimes felt, though it had never been ex- 
pressed. It was, she also realized, her only 
course now. 

194 » 


OUT OF THE NET 


“Oh, Melanie! I can stand it all no longer! 
I am going to go away. I am going with 
friends who will love me and be kind to me. 
And to show my gratitude to them for taking 
me away from this terrible place, I am going to 
restore to them what she has stolen — this! It 
is all I can do. Help me, Melanie! I think 
you — care for me a little, do you not? I have 
always thought so. Do not drag me back 
again into this horrible life!” She crept over 
and clasped both arms about the woman’s neck. 

Melanie caught her breath in sm’prise. The 
contact of the girl’s clinging body and the clasp 
of her soft young arms seemed to have a curious 
effect on the stern, repressed woman. Tears 
started to her eyes and her breath came in little 
gasps. She raised her arms and for an instant 
it seemed as if she were about to push the girl 
away. Then, to Virginie’s surprise, she sud- 
denly clasped her in a convulsive embrace. 

“My little heart! The only baby I ever had 
to love!” she murmured brokenly. 

195 


THE CRIMSON PATCH 


Virginie was quick to seize her advantage. 
‘‘Oh, Melanie, help me to get away from this 
terrible house. I can endure it no longer. I 
have suffered too much. You know what I 
have suffered. And now, at last, I have the 
opportunity to get away from it all. Do not 
prevent it, dear Melanie. Do not tell her! 
And I will love you always. Will you do 
this one thing for me?’’ 

The woman hesitated for a long, tense mo- 
ment, Then she shrugged her shoulders and 
pushed the clinging girl a little way from her. 

“I owe much to — her — everything practic- 
ally,” she said. “My existence almost, and the 
lives of my family. My mother and my little 
sisters would have died of starvation had it not 
been for her. She saved us all, but she has 
made me pay a terrible price. She owns me, 
body and soul. I have done despicable things 
for her — because I had to. But one thing has 
been harder for me than all the rest — her treat- 
196 


OUT OF THE NET 


merit of you, my little Virginie, in these last 
four terrible years. I have loved you always, 
from a baby, when you were left motherless. 
I have felt all that she has made you suffer. 
Yet what could I do? I was helpless. 

“But now you wish to escape, to get away 
from it all. Well, you shall. It will perhaps 
help to ease my conscience that I have done at 
least one good deed. I will leave the way 
clear. You shall take the paper if you wish — 
and go. I only pray you may be happy at last. 
Madame shall never know how you got away. 
But wait just one moment. There is some*- 
thing I wish to give you before you go. Stay 
where you are and I will be back immediately.” 

Virginie, only too grateful for the turn af- 
fairs had taken, consented to remain where she 
was till Melanie came back, and the woman 
hurried away in the direction of the kitchen. 
But Melanie was gone what seemed a very long 
time. The girl began to grow impatient and 
197 


THE CRIMSON PATCH 


even alarmed at the delay. What if Madame 
should take a notion to call her now? What 
could Melanie be about? 

And even as this passed through her mind, 
the languid voice of Madame floated down the 
stairs, calling to her to come up and read aloud 
and fan her till she got to sleep. In an agony 
of anxiety, Virginie stood, reluctant to answer, 
yet scarcely daring not to, till at length Melanie 
came hurrying back. 

“Here it is,’' she whispered, and crushed a 
scrap of paper into Virginie’s hand. “Now 
go!” she ended, pointing to the door. “I will 
tell her that you are not in the house. Have 
no fear and — ^goodby 1” 

They clasped each other in a last embrace. 
Then Virginie, the precious Crimson Patch 
clutched to her heart, slipped silently out of the 
door that Melanie held open and fled away 
across the lawn. And ere the door was closed, 
she had reached the edge of the woods and flung 
herself into the arms Patricia held out to her. 

198 


OUT OF THE NET 

It was a mad ride back to the city, a ride in 
which they broke the speed-limit many times 
and slowed down to normal pace as the out- 
skirts of the town appeared. Virginie sat with 
Patricia on the rear seat. So exhausted ner- 
vously was she, that she could say almost noth- 
ing, and only lay back with her eyes closed and 
her hand clasped in Patricia’s. And Patricia 
was sensible enough not to urge her to talk, 
though she was burning with curiosity to know 
how the girl had made her escape with the 
Crimson Patch. The precious sketch now lay 
securely hidden, and she longed for the moment 
when she could restore it to her father. 

And the thought of her father brought her 
suddenly face to face with the problem of what 
they were going to do when they got back to 
town again. She shrank from the idea of re- 
turning to the hotel with the half-fainting Bel- 
gian girl. It would arouse comment. Beside 
that, if her father or Mrs. Quale were not there, 
it might be a dangerous place for them to stay 
199 


THE CRIMSON PATCH 

alone. Who could tell but what Madame 
might trace them there and demand the imme- 
diate return of the girl who was supposed to be 
in her care? What, indeed, were they to do? 

She leaned forward and confided her doubts 
to Chet. And again she was astonished at the 
foresight of this clever boy. 

“You bet I worked that all out some little 
time ago. It sure would n’t be healthy for you 
to go back there — at least not till your father 
gets back. But I got a scheme that ’ll work 
all right — that is, if you care to do it. You 
come right to our place and stay with my 
mother. I told her this morning she might 
have some company before night, so she ’s half 
expectin’ you. I ’ll go back an’ hang around 
the hotel, an’ the minute your father or Mrs. 
Quale comes along, I ’ll tip ’em off to the lay 
of the land an’ fetch ’em right over. How 
about it?” 

“Oh, Chester, you’re wonderful!” sighed 

«00 


OUT OF THE NET 


Patricia. “You certainly do think of every- 
thing. I never saw any one like you.” 

“Don’t take much brain to think of thatr 
protested Chet, modestly. “There sure is a 
chance that that bunch will try to trace the girl 
an’ get her back, an’ they ’d probably guess 
right away that she ’s swiped the paper an’ gone 
back to you. But, on the^other hand, they may 
be scared stiff for fear she ’s given the game 
away, an’ are tumblin’ all over themselves tryin’ 
to get out of sight before the Government gets 
on to ’em. However, we ain’t takin’ any 
chances.” 

Chet Jackson’s home was in an unpretentious 
side street, a neat little box of a house, and as 
the car drew up at the curb, a large, comfort- 
able, motherly woman, with a wide smile ex- 
tremely like that of her youngest son’s, ap- 
peared at the door. Patricia had been rather 
dreading the explanations and apologies that 
she realized must surely be in order on their 
201 


THE CRIMSON PATCH 


arrival. So weary and overwrought was she, 
that she felt almost unequal to undertaking 
them. But much to her amazed relief, none 
seemed to be required. Mrs. Jackson acted as 
if a fugitive party of this nature was an every- 
day occurrence and needed no comment. 

“Come right in, ladies!” she welcomed them, 
when Chet had made the introductions. “You 
look very tired. I ’m going to put you right 
in this room by yourselves, and you can rest as 
long as you wish till some one comes for you.” 
And she led them into a neat, ugly little bed- 
room and left them to themselves. 

Patricia made Virginie lie down on the bed, 
while she established herself in a comfortable 
old rocker near by. Delia, having assured her- 
self that her young charges were in good hands, 
departed for the hotel to be there when Mrs. 
Quale returned. For half an hour the two 
girls remained as she had left them, each too 
much overcome to utter a single word. 

So quiet was Virginie at last, that Patricia 


OUT OF THE NET 


thought she must surely have fallen asleep, till 
she noticed two tears stealing down her cheeks. 

“Why, darling, what is the trouble?” she 
questioned, laying her head down beside her. 

“My father!” sobbed Virginie. “Do you 
think I have — have killed him?” 

To divert her mind from this distressing sub- 
ject, Patricia begged her to tell how she had 
managed to make her escape, and, in the recital, 
the Belgian girl forgot her fears for a while. 

“But what was it that Melanie gave you?” 
questioned Patricia, and Virginie opened her 
hand and disclosed the crumpled scrap of paper 
that she had held clenched in it all this time. 
So absorbed had she been in other things that 
she had not till this moment noticed or thought 
of it. Together they smoothed it out and bent 
to read the sentences hastily scrawled on it in 
lead-pencil. 


There is something I must tell you [it read in 
French] and I am cowardly enough not to wish to 


THE CRIMSON PATCH 


say it before your face, but I cannot let you go away 
forever without knowing it. Would I had told you 
before, but I did not dare. You have been kept in 
this bondage by the threat that your father would 
pay with his life if you dared to disobey them. 

Have no fear. The threat is powerless. Your 
father died during the siege of Antwerp — a painless 
death. A shell struck and exploded near his villa, 
damaging it. He w^as not injured, apparently, at 
the time, but the shock evidently affected his heart, 
for he was found soon afterward lying peacefully in 
his chair — dead. You should rejoice that this is so, 
for he is happy and at peace, and he never could 
have been so again had he remained alive. May God 
have some happiness in store for you in the future. 

Good-by for the last time, 

Melanie. 

Virginie uttered one sobbing, astonished cry 
and buried her face in the pillow. Patricia, 
without a word, walked away to the window and 
left her alone to the sacredness of her sorrow. 
But as she stood with clenched hands, staring 
out at nothing, she found herself murmuring 
over and over again : 

“Oh, they are not human! They are not 
human!” 


CHAPTER XVI 


THE SECRET OF THE CRIMSON PATCH 

I T was Mrs. Quale who arrived on the scene 
first. She came in a taxi, having received 
elaborate directions from Chet, who remained 
at the hotel to watch for the return of the cap- 
tain. There was one comfortable thing about 
Mrs. Quale that Patricia had always par- 
ticularly admired: she seemed to understand 
things and situations without any explanations. 
She came in now, took both Patricia’s hands in 
hers, and kissed her quietly. 

“You poor child ! If I had only known what 
a tangle you were in, I would not have gone off 
so thoughtlessly yesterday without first letting 
you know. I supposed of course your father 
was with you. I am thankful, at least, that 
I ’m home in time to help you out of the 
muddle.” 


205 


THE CRIMSON PATCH 


That was all, but Patricia realized that what- 
ever she knew or did not know about the affair, 
it made no difference whatever in her desire to 
be of help. 

She decided to tell her at once about Virginie, 
and did so while they were standing outside the 
door of the room where the Belgian girl was. 
Mrs. Quale had met her casually at the hotel, 
in company with Patricia, and had always 
cherished a liking for the lonely, diffident 
girl. When she had heard all the story, she 
stood thinking a moment and then said de- 
cisively : 

“You simply cannot go back to that hotel. 
It is no place for you after all that has hap- 
pened. Now, I have a plan, and I shall urge 
your father to fall in with it. Part of my house 
is at last habitable — at least three bedrooms 
and the living-room and kitchen are. I have 
had old Juno there for a week getting them in 
order and was going to leave the hotel for them 
myself in a day or two. I want you all to 
206 


THE SECRET 


come with me and make your home there for a 
time. I do not believe it is either right or safe 
for you to stay any longer in that public place, 
especially after what has happened. We ’ll go 
right over now, and I ’ll send word for your 
father to follow as soon as he arrives. We can 
go back to the hotel some other time and pack 
up your belongings.” 

‘‘Oh, Mrs. Quale, it is lovely of you to pro- 
pose it!” sighed Patricia. “You don’t know 
what a relief it will be to get away from that 
place. I could never stand it again after the 
dreadful hours I spent there last night. But 
what about Virginie?” 

“Never mind about her. Just take me to her 
now, if you will, and we ’ll settle about that 
later.” 

Virginie still lay on the bed, no longer sob- 
bing or weeping, but with her head buried in the 
pillow, quiet, hopeless, and inert. She did not 
even look up as they entered the room. Pa- 
tricia gently roused her, and she sat up to greet 
207 


THE CRIMSON PATCH 


Mrs. Quale in a timid, half-frightened manner. 
But Mrs. Quale had long since settled in her 
own mind her plan of action. She sat down 
on the side of the bed and put one arm pro- 
tectingly around Virginie. 

“Dear,” she said softly, “I know your story 
now, all that you have suffered, all the brave 
sacrifices you made to save the life, as you sup- 
posed, of the father who was no longer living. 
All that is ended. And now, dear, I am a very 
lonely woman. I have no children and very 
few relatives left, and I have always felt a 
warm interest in you since first I saw you with 
that unscrupulous woman. I knew that you 
were not happy. Will you come and make 
your home with me and be my daughter? I 
will bring you up as my own. We are two 
lonely people. I have no daughter, you have 
no mother. Why should we not be happy to- 
gether?” 

The girl stared at her for a moment almost 
uncomprehendingly. Then, suddenly, she 
208 


THE SECRET 


grasped the meaning and it seemed too won- 
derful to be true. 

“Oh, you— you are too good — too — ” Her 
head went down on the motherly shoulder, and 
her arms crept around Mrs. Quale’s neck. 
And so Patricia, tears of happiness standing 
in her own eyes, stole out of the room and left 
them together. 

It was ten o’clock that night before Captain 
Meade himself arrived, tired, dusty, discour- 
aged, and decidedly bewildered by the change 
his daughter had made so unexpectedly in her 
place of residence. Chet had encountered him 
in the lobby of the hotel and steered him at once 
to Mrs. Quale’s house without any special ex- 
planations, as he felt that Patricia was the one 
best fitted to offer these. And it was not till 
after he had bathed and had some supper that 
Patricia, alone with him in the library, ven- 
tured to ask what success he had had in his 
search. 


209 


THE CRIMSON PATCH 


“None at all. Absolutely nothing to show 
for it!” he replied wearily. “We have raked 
New York from end to end without success. 
When we went there originally we were on a 
good scent — actually had the fellow spotted 
who we knew without fail must have had the 
sketch in his possession; but when we finally 
ran him down, he had nothing of the kind about 
him nor had he had any opportunity to dispose 
of it anywhere, so we had to give up that clue. 
I confess, I ’m terribly discouraged.” 

Patricia smiled cheerfully. “Well, never 
mind. Daddy. You Ve had a hard time, but 
perhaps things aren’t as bad as they seem!” 

He looked at her wonderingly. “I don’t 
know how they could be much worse!” he ex- 
claimed a little impatiently. “One of the most 
valuable of the Government’s secrets is in the 
hands of the enemy at this minute.” 

Patricia lifted a book from the table, took 
something from it, and laid it on her father’s 
knee. 


210 


THE SECRET 


‘T hate to contradict you,’’ she remarked 
gaily, “but I think the Crimson Patch is at this 
minute in the possession of the one who has 
most right to it!” 

It was long after midnight. The rest of the 
household was all asleep, but Patricia still sat 
with her father by the open fire, for the night 
had turned chilly. She sat on his knee, her 
head snuggled comfortably in his coat collar. 
The ensuing interval, after she had told her 
story, had been a confusion of telephoning and 
interviews, not only with Chester Jackson, but 
also with a mysterious Mr. Brainerd, a curly- 
haired, light-complexioned, athletic young man 
with whom her father had been closeted for 
three quarters of an hour in close conference. 
Patricia was glad when it was over and they 
had all gone and left them alone together. 

“But, Daddy,” she was saying, “there are 
still a whole lot of things I don’t understand 
about this thing at all. You kept saying, 
£11 


THE CRIMSON PATCH 


^We were hunting for it in New York.’ Now 
who is ^we^? I thought you shared this secret 
with no one.” 

The captain laughed. “You are right. 
There ’s quite a little you ’ve still to learn. 
‘We’ is mainly Mr. Tom Brainerd, whom you 
saw here to-night. He ’s a government secret- 
service man, the best around these parts, and 
he ’s been near me for protection ever since we 
first came to the hotel.” 

“He has?'^ cried Patricia. “Why, I never 
saw him before in my life.” 

“Oh, yes, you have!” contradicted the cap- 
tain. “You saw him every day of your life, 
only you did n’t know him. I confess he 
looked a little different. Mr. Tom Brainerd 
was no other than your pet spy, poor Peter 
Stoger, my dear 1” 

Patricia’s jaw dropped and her face was a 
study in bewilderment. “Then — then he — he 
was n’t Franz?” she stammered. 

“He certainly was not! He elected to come 
212 


THE SECRET 

here, disguised as he was, because his counten- 
ance in real life is a little too familiar to the 
German spy-system in general. The manager 
of the hotel is fortunately a good friend of mine 
and an ardent patriot, so ‘Peter’s’ task was 
made easy. But there was a ‘Franz’ here, 
though he went by another name, and he, too, 
was one of the waiters. I do not believe you 
remember him. He was a short, thin, light- 
haired young fellow, who had a table at the 
other end of the dining-room. Curiously 
enough, both he and Peter rather suspected 
each other and were constantly watching each 
other’s movements. 

“On the day when the sketch disappeared, 
it happened in this way. When Tom, or 
rather, Peter, came into the room that evening 
with the tray containing your supper, he saw 
to his astonishment, lying carelessly on the 
table, the very sketch that he understood it 
was so important to guard. Immediately he 
saw the necessity of removing it to safety, as 

ns 


THE CRIMSON PATCH 

he knew that you were not in the secret about 
it, so he put his tray down on top of it, in ap- 
parent ignorance, and when you commanded 
him to remove the tray, he did so, cleverly con- 
cealing and holding the sketch underneath. 
When he went out of the room he still had it 
concealed under the tray, but once outside and 
the door closed, he dropped it to the ground 
while trying to transfer it to his pocket. It 
was this unfortunate accident that he feels sure 
led to its theft. In all probability, Madame 
Vanderpoel was watching from her nearly 
closed door and saw the sketch as it fell, and 
guessed it must be connected in some way 
with the secret we had been guarding. She 
immediately found some means to report it to 
her ally and companion-spy, Franz, and then 
the trouble began.” 

“But did Peter — I mean Mr. Brainerd — sus- 
pect Madame?” Patricia interrupted eagerly. 

“He did not exactly suspect her, for she 
had done and said nothing of a suspicious na- 
214 


THE SECRET 

ture. She certainly passed herself off very 
well for just what she wished to seem. She is 
an exceedingly clever woman. His only un- 
easiness about her arose from the rather pe- 
culiar actions of your little friend, Virginie de 
Vos. Still, as I say, Brainerd could not seem 
to connect her with any doubtful matters. 
Franz he did think was watching him, but even 
he did nothing to arouse direct suspicion. 
And, by the way, the ‘Hofmeyer’ that Chester 
heard referred to is none other than this pre- 
cious ‘Madame Vanderpoel.’ It is, in fact, her 
real name, for she married, after her first hus- 
band died, a German named Hofmeyer. Lit- 
tle Virginie told me this to-night in a short in- 
terview I had with her. So there you have 
the famous two. 

“Well, to continue. Peter intended to keep 
the sketch by him and return it to me at the 
earliest opportunity. But you know I got 
back very late that night, and so he thought best 
to retain it till morning, fearing it would arouse 
^15 


THE CRIMSON PATCH 


suspicion if he made an attempt to see me at 
so late an hour. He took the chance of my be- 
ing a little upset at not finding it. He even 
thought it possible I might not discover its dis- 
appearance that night. Then, during the 
night, the sketch was stolen from his room; he 
does not even yet know how, but undoubtedly 
Franz was the culprit. 

“Next morning at breakfast, if you remem- 
ber, Peter jogged my shoulder with the tray, 
and I reprimanded him rather sharply. It was 
a preconcerted signal between us that he had 
something important to tell me. Later we 
met, and he told me what had happened and 
that Franz had disappeared from his accus- 
tomed post. We straightway went on a keen 
hunt after Franz, struck his trail at the rail- 
road station, followed him to New York, pur- 
sued him from place to place all day, and finally 
had him arrested and searched, only to be dis- 
appointed in finding he had nothing of the sort 
on him. He must have got over to Hanford 

ne 


THE SECRET 


and left it there, or passed the sketch to Ma- 
dame before she went, or something of the kind. 
At any rate, we had to let him go the next 
morning, as we had no evidence on which to 
hold him. After that, I came back here to find 
you and Chester had been the best detectives 
after all! 

“The boy actually had the gumption to set 
the police on the trail of that Hanford crowd 
when he got back here. They went right out 
to raid the place. But alas! every one of the 
birds had fiown. Not a trace of them any- 
where. Very likely the maid gave the warning 
after Virginie got away, and they knew that 
the authorities would be hot-foot after them in 
a very short time. One consolation is that 
Madame will be known and spotted wherever 
she appears, so her usefulness as a German spy 
is over, in this country at any rate. 

“I think that I have made a great mistake 
in keeping you in the dark about all these 
things, from the first. I might better have let 

m 


THE CRIMSON PATCH 


you into the secret of the importance of the 
sketch and the fact that our waiter was only 
a secret-service man in disguise. But I wanted 
to spare you all worry about the matter, and I 
thought it would be perhaps safer for you if 
you knew nothing about my affairs. I see 
now that I should have done differently. But, 
at any rate, it has all turned out so well that we 
won’t regret anything.” 

“But what a trump Chester has been! Did 
you ever see any one quite so clever?” cried Pa- 
tricia, enthusiastically. “He is really the one 
who saved the whole situation.” 

“Yes, he is really a wonderful chap!” the 
captain agreed. “He beat Mr. Brainerd at his 
own job, and has done more for me than I can 
ever hope to repay. But he shall certainly 
have his reward, as far as I ’m able to accom- 
plish it. He wants to be a detective, but he is 
cut out for even better things if he only has 
the education and opportunities. I am going 
to arrange to have him put in a good school, 

ns 


THE SECRET 


and later he shall follow any line of work he 
seems best fitted for. He will certainly make 
his mark in the world some day.” 

‘‘Well,” murmured Patricia, with a little sigh 
of content, “Chester and Virginie have cer- 
tainly lost nothing and gained much by the 
disappearance of the Crimson Patch, so I feel 
as if the adventure had been well worth while 
in every way, even though it did cause us an 
awful lot of worry!” 

The captain reached over to the table and 
took up the sketch. “It ’s a simple little thing 
to have caused such a lot of worry, isn’t it!” 
he said musingly. “It looks as harmless and 
innocent as any butterfly might seem, flutter- 
ing about on a May morning. Yet, it is in 
reality a very deadly little article, Patricia. 
I ’m only thankful to goodness that its dead- 
liness was so well hidden that those Huns never 
caught on to it. Its particular usefulness is 
practically over now, since the work I ’ve been 
doing is all but complete. But it would have 
219 


THE CRIMSON PATCH ' 


been a terribly dangerous thing had it fallen 
into the hands of the enemy and they had 
fathomed its meaning. My work would then 
have been almost valueless. 

“And since you have done so much to aid in 
keeping this a secret, Patricia, I think the time 
has come to tell you the meaning of it all. You 
have earned the right, and all I ask is that you 
will communicate it to no one till I give you 
permission. I can trust you, I know. 

“I have already told you how, when I was 
a prisoner in Germany, it occurred to me that 
if I pretended to have lost some of my wits, 
through shell-shock, as many have, the ruse 
might benefit me in a number of ways. I was 
strong and able-bodied at the time, and the 
Huns were particularly in need of husky pris- 
oners to do their work, and they much prefer 
those who show symptoms of not having all 
their wits about them. I was unusually suc- 
cessful in the device, and was finally set to 
220 


THE SECRET 


work in an outer section of one of their airplane 
factories — of course, under strict guard. 

‘Tt was here that I came in contact with a 
German mechanic, a man of somewhat finer 
caliber than most of them, to whom I was able 
to render a rather important service or two. 
He was ill and in want, and he had a serious 
grievance against his government. He had in- 
vented a certain device of immense importance, 
and he was trying to get them to accept it and 
pay him enough to assure him a decent living. 
The government wanted the device badly 
enough, but was so foolish as to haggle and 
bargain with him over the price, offering him 
scarcely enough to keep him for six months. 
He was too ill to work and earn a living, but 
he steadily refused to give up his secret till 
properly reimbursed. 

“At length it came to the point where he 
knew he had but a little longer to live. An- 
gered, perhaps, that his Fatherland should have 

m 


THE CRIMSON PATCH 


been so ungrateful and mean-spirited, and hat- 
ing to have his discovery, of which he was 
justly proud, lost to the world, he confided it 
to me, for I had, some time before, allowed 
him to know that I was not the stupid creature 
I seemed. I asked him whether he cared if 
America made use of it, and he replied: T 
care for nothing now. The Fatherland has 
proved unworthy. Do with it what you will.’ 

“Later, as you know, I myself managed to 
escape and get through to the French lines. 
And so I arrived home. But, being of a some- 
what mechanical turn myself, I came to realize 
that this device, still incomplete as it was, could 
be perfected into an instrument of the greatest 
importance to the aviation arm of the service. 
I cannot explain to you exactly what it is, nor 
go into all its workings. It would be much too 
technical for you to understand. 

“But I can tell you this much about it. An 
aviator in a bombing-plane has had one great, 
and, till now, almost insuperable difficulty to 
222 


THE SECRET 


contend with. The velocity of his machine is 
such that a released bomb will have for an ap- 
preciable time after it is dropped the same 
horizontal velocity. This means, in simpler 
language, that the bomb will be carried along 
for a time in the same direction and at almost 
the same rate at which the machine is going. 
Thus, you see that the aviator, if he is intend- 
ing to drop his bomb on a certain building or 
object, cannot do so when he is directly over 
that object, but must calculate in some way at 
what point to release his bomb before he comes 
directly over the object, or it will not hit its 
mark. 

“There have been many attempts to over- 
come this difficulty, but none very successful. 
The device I have perfected comes more nearly 
to accuracy than anything yet discovered, and 
our own Government is only too glad to make 
use of it. 

“And now we come to The Crimson Patch. 
When the German mechanic gave me his se- 
223 


THE CRIMSON PATCH 


cret, he also furnished me with a drawing or 
diagram of the instrument. This was abso- 
lutely necessary to have, as the invention was 
so complicated that I could not possibly have 
carried it in my head. But I realized, also, 
that it would be extremely dangerous to carry 
it around with me in the shape in which it was. 
So I camouflaged the whole thing in a sketch 
of the Crimson Patch butterfly, and in this form 
it was safe enough, for I had made a poLit of 
sketching at times the various butterflies I had 
seen while in the prison-camp, and the Germans 
thought me only a harmless lunatic on the sub- 
ject. The Crimson Patch was no more to them 
than any other pretty little sketch I had made.” 

“But, Daddy,” cried Patricia, staring at the 
paper in his hand, “I can’t see a trace of any- 
thing like the drawing of a mechanical instru- 
ment.” 

“It is all incorporated in the veining of the 
wings and shading of the body,” he told her. 
“No one would understand it save myself, for 
224 ? 


THE SECRET 

it is so much a matter of lines and scale and 
angles. But it is all there, I assure you, at 
least, in its cruder form. Until the machine 
was completed, I had to have this sketch con- 
stantly where I could refer to it, at times I 
even had to carry it about with me. So you 
see how important it was, considering the 
abominable spy-system by which we are sur- 
rounded, that it should appear only the inno- 
cent thing it seemed. 

“Well, now you know the history of the 
Crimson Patch. It has certainly had, as they 
say, a checkered career! I would like to keep 
it always as an interesting souvenir, but it is 
too dangerous to have about, and the time of 
its usefulness is past. Only a few days ago, 
at the place where we are to manufacture this 
device, it was tried out and proved that it will 
be a practical success after some necessary al- 
terations are made. Look your last on it, for 
in a few minutes its existence will be over!’’ 

He held it up before her eyes a moment. 

225 


THE CRIMSON PATCH 


Then, slipping her off his knee, he walked over 
to the fireplace, where a big log was still smoul- 
dering. Stirring the fire into a blaze, he tore 
the sketch into small bits and dropped the flut- 
tering pieces into the flames. Together they 
watched while the charred fragments turned 
brown, curled over, blazed for a moment and 
shriveled into a gray crisp. 

Five minutes later the fire died down. The 
big log rolled over, burying the ashes under 
its bulk. And so vanished the last trace of 
the mysterious Crimson Patch. 


THE END 


ne 





